


Hawksong

by baggins-oakenshield (LilyEvans)



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Arranged Marriage AU, Bilbo is King of the Shire, Hobbits have wings, Lots of it, M/M, Minor Character Deaths, Pining, Thorin is King of Erebor, brief mentions of violence, dwarves can transform into snakes, happy ending I promise, they learn to love each other don't worry, this is still a work in progress so things might change/be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-15 12:11:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2228550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyEvans/pseuds/baggins-oakenshield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins, King of the Shire, was used to the war between his people and the serpentine. He'd grown up with it and the endless years of war were as known to him as the feel of wind across the feathers of his second form. But when he finds a young serpentine prince injured on the battlefield he has a chance to do the impossible: hope for peace. Yet one thing leads to another and what started as helping an injured prince turns into an arranged marriage between himself and the person he has feared his entire life, Thorin Oakenshield King of Erebor. He can only hope that somehow they can make this marriage work and bring peace to their people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bilbo closed his eyes and steeled himself from the view. No matter how many times he’d seen bloodshed and gore he would still never feel anywhere near at ease on the battlefield. The scent of hot, fresh avian blood filled his nose and caused his stomach to roil. He fought back against the queasy uprising in his stomach and forced himself to breathe lightly through his mouth. 

It had been one of the larger battles they’d had in months and the dead littered the ground, feathers and scales side by side. Death made no preference. Bilbo was weary from exhaustion as he’d fought with his guard and people for the last few hours. He was fortunate to have come away from the battle without any impeding wounds. The same could not be said for his guard. Two of the twenty who were specifically assigned to him had fallen, Dora and Ferris. He was grateful it was only two, though to be grateful for such an occurrence seemed to imply something quite wrong. Though perhaps being at war for generations cause that. Bilbo didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he wanted to think too deeply on it. 

A moan sounded not far to his left and he listened carefully for another sound before picking his way towards it. They had already made one flyby to assess the situation and find any who might be healed, but it was possible they had missed someone. His guard of crows and ravens followed him, some on the ground and some in the air. It took a moment of searching before he noticed where the cry had come from. Lying on the side of a hill at the edge of the forest, just below the eves of an oak tree, was a small figure covered in blood. 

A serpentine. 

Bilbo stared at the figure, half frozen in fear. The feathers which typically remained hidden in his hair puffed out and his heart beat a panicked quick rhythm. His guard surrounded him and he took deep breaths, trying to control his shaking, suddenly sweaty hands. It was nearly ridiculous for him to be afraid of the serpent when it was obvious the creature was in pain and could barely move, but Bilbo’s instincts had been trained very early and even then he was careful. He didn’t need the memory of two funeral pyres, burning side by side, to remind him why he was so careful. Bilbo bit the inside of his cheek and willed away the wash of anger and grief that had swelled from the memory. He forced himself into the cool reserve that was his sanctuary and repeated the saying that he’d heard since he was a fauntling which always spoke in the voice of his mother. 

_A Hawk is reserved. A Hawk does not display emotion._

Bilbo opened his eyes, only then realizing that he’d closed them, and turned his attention back to the figure lying prone on the ground. For a moment he felt anger stir in him again, but this time it wasn’t the anger at a people who had killed those he loved. It was the never ceasing frustration with a war that seemed to stretch forever on the horizon. A war that had taken so many for who knows what reasons. The serpent before him looked so small, hardly more than a child. Did he truly deserve death so young? Or was he just following orders, doing as he had been taught, as Bilbo had been taught, for all their lives? 

Bilbo took a step forwards, but one of his guard held out an arm. “He is one of them Your Highness. You do not want his blood on your hands.” 

“Isn’t it already?” Bilbo replied bitterly, not taking his eyes from the figure. It was his soldiers who had created those wounds. It was on his orders that this child was near death. 

The guard bowed his head and stepped back so Bilbo could make the last few paces to the serpent’s side. He knelt slowly, still not sure what he was actually doing there, but knowing that somehow it was the right choice. The serpent flinched in pain then his eyes blinked open, an unusual shade of deep blue, before finding Bilbo’s own. He looked at Bilbo for a moment through a haze of pain and confusion, then his eyes went wide with fear. 

There were _very_ few serpents who had eyes the color of the sky and the circlet Bilbo wore along with his golden eyes made him even easier to recognize. Of all the people for Bilbo to find on this battlefield, he would never have guessed it to be one of the royal line of Durin. But as he looked at the serpentine he felt even more sure that he was correct. They had each been taught the unique appearance of the opposing royalty: The Baggins line claimed golden honey eyes and matching hair while the Durins had deep blue eyes and raven black hair. Bilbo mentally ran through his list of information on their line. It was not their king, of that he was certain, this one was too young, and the king had no children. But the king’s sister did. 

“You are Kili Durin?” Bilbo asked quietly. The serpent looked at him suspiciously for a long moment before nodding his head carefully, his face grimaced in pain even from that small movement. Bilbo nodded in return and inspected the serpent’s wounds. He seemed to have a broken arm with a broken bow at his side and one of his legs was twisted at an awkward angle. He was bleeding from several gashes on his arms and stomach, the strange dark blood of their kind was soaked into the grass. Bilbo was careful not to touch the blood. There were many rumors about their kind that were completely false, but still, it didn’t hurt to be careful. 

Bilbo narrowed his eyes, confused. There was something odd about the situation. Usually they knew if one of their royalty was fighting in the battle. The guard they kept around their king was enormous and impenetrable. So why would he find one of the king’s kin on his own? No guard and not even near the other archers. It just didn’t make any sense. Bilbo was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice when the serpent reached for him and it was only the fact that his sword was sheathed that kept him from killing the serpent immediately. Bilbo’s heart was racing so fast that it took him several moments for him to process what the serpent had said. 

“Will you end it?” The serpent repeated, voice low in pleading. His strangely blue eyes, which had terrified Bilbo in his dreams, were filled with pain and sadness. “Please? I- I don’t want to die like this.” 

Bilbo gaped at him in shock. The serpents don’t believe in mercy killings. All of his kin knew that. They would rather die fighting and considered mercy a weakness. Bilbo could do it, he had a dagger by his side and it wasn’t as if he hadn’t killed their kind before. But he hesitated. This time was different. This was a child, the youngest he’d ever seen on the field. Bilbo could see the terror in his eyes. It was the same fear that he’d seen in the eyes of his young cousin when he’d had to tell Frodo that his parents were never coming home again. This child didn’t have mortal wounds, he could conceivably heal completely normal. And he was a Durin, royal blood. His life in particular would mean something to their king. Bilbo found himself thinking of a possibility he’d never considered. He was shaking from nerves, what he did then could mark the tipping point for the war. It could possibly be extremely dangerous, but there was a chance it could lead to the one thing they had never known. Peace. 

“Adelard,” he said, voice strong despite his nerves, “Call for a healer immediately.” 

“Are you sure, Your Highness?” Adelard asked. Bilbo looked up at his guard and saw his own uneasiness mirrored in their eyes. It was a risk, one that could possibly change everything. Bilbo took another steadying breath. 

“Yes, I am.” 

“Then I will return swiftly,” Adelard replied and he morphed into his raven form before flying quickly across the field. Bilbo turned his attention back to the serpent and carefully took his uninjured hand in his own. It was clamming with sweat and splattered with blood, but Bilbo held it tightly nonetheless. The serpent returned the grasp, and held onto Bilbo as if that would somehow lessen the pain. 

No, he wouldn’t die like that. Not if Bilbo could do something about it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I am incredibly shocked by the responses on this story! Thank you so much to everyone who commented/kudo'd/subscribed/stopped by. It's incredibly motivating to be able to read your comments! 
> 
> As yet this story is un-beta'd so all mistakes are mine. Just thought I'd mention it. 
> 
> On to chapter 2! :)

“You cannot be serious.” 

“I am quite serious,” Bilbo replied calmly from his seat at the head of the council. Twelve pairs of eyes turned to stare at him and even though the council room was mostly open to the sky he still felt stifled. “We now have in our custody one of the Durins. They will want him back. Thus, he can be used as leverage.” Bilbo felt his stomach twist with disgust at his own words. He hated the thought of using anyone as leverage, even one of the serpentine, but he knew what language he needed to use to sway the council. Claiming that the serpent was but a child would not work. _They have killed our own children, if they chose to send children to battle then they knew what to expect._

“If you think that is the case then you need to get your head out of the clouds, hawkling,” Lobelia spat. Bilbo glared at her and felt his feathers rise in irritation. He was still young to be their king, but the last few years of his rule had removed most of the questions on his right to rule. Most, being the key word. “The serpents won’t compromise with us. They like killing, that’s what they’ve done for the last hundred years.” Several of the council members nodded in agreement and began muttering amongst one another. _Isn’t that also what we’ve done as well Bilbo wanted to shout._ But a hawk does not shout. 

“This is our chance at negotiation.” He spoke over the murmuring crowd who silenced at his speech. “If it fails, then the serpent’s fate will be decided.” Bilbo thought of the young serpent child, asleep in a quarantined section of the healer’s rooms and surrounded by his own guard. He tried not to think about what failed negotiations would mean for him. “This is something we must try.” 

“Why?” Lobelia asked, sneering. Not for the first or even one hundredth time of working with Lobelia did Bilbo wish he could remove her from the council. But while he was the king, he could not banish the next in line from important meetings. “What could we possibly gain by keeping one of those snakes alive?”

“Peace,” Bilbo said and a thick silence fell around the table as every council member stared at Bilbo. His hands began to tremble under the table and he clenched them tightly. “For years and years we have been at war with the Serpents. We have all lost someone dear to us in these battles, I would not wish to lose any more. It is time we try and put this war at an end.” The council continued to stare at Bilbo and he could almost see their thoughts through their eyes, each thinking, deliberating. 

“I agree with His Highness,” Gorbadoc said. Bilbo allowed himself a sign of relief as the council’s attention turned towards their military chief. The great horned owl had led them through battle for the last twenty years and held immense sway over the opinions of the council and general populace. If he was willing to back Bilbo, then there was a chance at persuading the council despite Lobelia’s claims. “We have an advantage by holding the serpent hostage. His Highness is right to make use of it.” Some of their fellows fell into silent consideration while a few others whispered conversation to their neighbor, but Bilbo knew the tide had turned. 

Gorbadoc cast his stern gaze at each council member till they reverted their gaze to either Bilbo or the table. Lobelia did not comment. She knew better than to try and overshoot Gorbadoc, but the look on her face could have curdled milk within a second. 

“That is settled then. I will have a letter sent to the Durins by next light. If there are no other concerns then this meeting is adjourned.” None of the council spoke. “Then this council meeting is finished.” 

The council members stood to leave and Bilbo felt relief wash through him. They had agreed. This was actually happening. Gorbadoc remained seated at the table as did Bilbo while the others transformed to fly to other sections of the Shire or chose walk along the few corridors to the rest of the Keep. 

“Thank you,” he said when the room was empty. He tried to push everything he felt into those two words. Gorbadoc had known Bilbo needed his support and had given it freely. For that he was more thankful than he could say.

“This is a bargain,” Gorbadoc said and eyed Bilbo sharply. “I’ll not say it’s without risk. But I’m willing to believe in you. There’s not many who’d be willing to try this negotiation, but I’ve grown old and tire of war. If there’s any that can see this right, it’s you.” 

Bilbo stared at him not sure if he was more shocked by the amount of trust just placed in him or the number of words the owl had spoken in a row. Gorbadoc stood from the table and walked over to Bilbo, inspecting seriously before speaking again. “They’d be proud of you.” 

Bilbo felt his throat go dry and he could only nod in reply. His parents had worked hard to do their best for their people, he could only hope to come close to what they had done. Gorbadoc seemed to understand and he gave Bilbo’s arm a small squeeze before releasing him and taking flight. Bilbo stared out at the council table without really seeing it before taking flight himself. 

Relief washed through him as took to his wings and focused on the pure pleasure of air flowing over his wings. Late afternoon sunlight spilled over the rolling hills and he breathed in the scent of wildflowers as he flew. The council room was in one of the higher portions of the Keep and located slight further from the Keep than many other rooms. He’d been told this was because the council rooms were used less often, but Bilbo had a feel it was so others wouldn’t have to listen to shouting if, or more likely when, it occurred. The healing ward was a short flight away and Bilbo passed only a few other hobbits before he reached the right room. He landed on the pad just outside the healer’s rooms, transforming back into his human form just as he alighted. Two of his guards were stationed at this entrance and he knew another pair watched the back entrance as well. 

“How was the meeting?” Rory asked. He and Otho had offered to be the ones to watch over their charge for which Bilbo was grateful. They were both keen eyed and generally open minded. But even more than that, they were two of the closest friends he had. 

“Not too horrible,” Bilbo replied, with a small shrug. Most of his nerves from the meeting has dissolved during the flight and he felt incredibly refreshed. "They’ve agreed to it.” 

Rory raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Better than I expected then.” 

“Lobelia didn’t try and make a stint then?” Otho asked. “I’d be surprised if that were true.” 

“It’s not, but Gorbadoc stepped in,” Bilbo replied and Rory and Otho nodded in understanding. 

“How is he?” Bilbo asked. 

“Alright,” Rory said. “The healers have set the broken bones and tended to the wounds. They seem to think he’ll make a full recovery.” 

“That’s good,” he replied. He had been most anxious when the child was first brought in and they had not yet know just how serious the injuries might be. It didn’t help that the healers had also refused to heal their patient unless Bilbo allowed them to keep him sedated. He supposed it didn’t surprise him. The idea of taking one of their kind into their keep was terrifying as it was, let alone with him actually awake. 

“There was one thing interesting,” Rory said with a slight pause. He looked down at his feet then did a quick scan of the sky. “A bowl of soup with a strange smell. We threw it out and requested new food which smelled fine.” He shrugged. “It could have been something just slightly off in the recipe.” Or something very off. 

“Thank you for telling me,” Bilbo said. “We should be very particular about keeping away anything slightly off.” 

“We’ll do that,” Rory said. Bilbo nodded and turned his attention to the closed door. Otho pulled out the key and quietly unlocked the door. 

“He’s asleep so there shouldn’t be any issue if you want to see him.” Otho said, holding open the door for him. “And we’ll both be right here.”  
Bilbo hesitated before walking through the doorway into the dimly lit room. It was empty except for the figure on the cot and only had one window which was covered with closed drapes. Bilbo quietly walked towards the sleeping child. He already looked better for the few hours’ care he’d been under. A bit of color had returned to his face, though it was still quite pale. Bilbo pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed. He still felt uneasy being so close to the serpent, but he was certain he would be safe as the serpent was still asleep and Rory and Otho were guarding from the doorway. 

He watched him sleep, but either something about his presence had awakened the young prince or the sleeping herbs had begun to wear off because he began to shift in his sleep. Bilbo watched as he moved about fitfully before slowly opening his eyes. He blinked a few times before turning his head and looking at Bilbo. Yet again Bilbo was shocked by how visible the young serpentine’s emotions were. He could see the initial fear morph into suspicion and then into something Bilbo hadn’t expected, trust. He was still wary of Bilbo, and the trust was carefully guarded, but still it existed. 

“Y-“A round of coughs burst from him, interrupting whatever he had planned on saying. He cleared his throat before trying again though his voice was still slightly raspy. “You’re the one who brought me here?” 

“I am,” Bilbo said, nodding, and figuring he ought to do things properly, added, “I am Bilbo Baggins, current King of the Shire.” 

“Kili son of Dis and nephew of the king,” he said with the obvious practice and annoyance of having said this title more times than he really cared for. He coughed again and winced as his injured arm turned. Bilbo looked about and noticed a jug of water and a small plate of food. He inspected it carefully, but the food and drink smelled perfectly normal so he poured a glass and brought the plate of food over to the bed. He was grateful that the prince had closed his eyes and thus didn’t see Bilbo awkwardly maneuvering around the table to avoid turning his back to the bed. He felt embarrassed being so distrusting of a child who felt comfortable enough in his presence to rest his eyes. His intuition said that the young prince was safe and could be trusted, but he also knew better than to rely on that alone. The Shire could not afford a lapse in his judgment. 

“Here,” he said, and passed the meal and water to the injured prince. He eyed the meal suspiciously and didn’t move to touch it. Bilbo nearly sighed. “Look its fine, I promise.” 

Kili continued to stare down the food, but then his stomach growled so loudly Bilbo was sure it could be heard through the door. They both laughed at that and Kili relaxed, taking the water glass from Bilbo and downing it with several large gulps. He then reached for the food, wolfing down large slices of cheese and tearing off thick pieces of bread, before starting on the fruit with equal gusto. He ate so furiously as to make Bilbo wonder if this was actually his first meal since the battle. He’d have to ask the healers later. The prince managed his food fairly well given that he really only had one useable arm. His left was bandaged so tightly that it was relatively useless. Kili sighed contentedly when he’d finished the plate which had taken barely a few minutes. Bilbo made a mental note to make sure plenty more food was delivered later. 

“Where am I?” Kili asked, looking around. He leaned back into the pillows, completely at ease. Bilbo was surprised to find he felt equally as relaxed. It was a nice feeling, one he didn’t realize how often was missing from his life. 

“A removed portion of the healers ward near the center of the Shire.” Bilbo replied. It didn’t feel necessary to keep that information secret. 

“Oh,” Kili said and nestled back into his sheets, eyelids dropping from exhaustion already. He didn’t seem to mind that Bilbo continued to sit by his side so Bilbo made no move to leave. It was calming, to simply sit there together in the relative dark. 

“Thanks,” he said after a few minutes silence and when Bilbo had though him drifted off to sleep. “For saving my life, I mean.” 

Bilbo stared at him, not sure of what to say. “I- of course.” 

Kili was inspecting him again, but not in the suspicious was he had glared at the food. It somehow felt critical and Bilbo did his best to meet his gaze openly. 

“You’re different,” Kili said finally. He furrowed his brows, trying to ward off the need for sleep that was steadily becoming stronger. “I think we could be friends.” 

“Really?” Bilbo asked, nonplussed. He’d dreamed of an end to the war, a life where perhaps there two races still didn’t particularly care for the other, but at least one where there was no fighting. But the idea of being friends with a serpent… it had never occurred to him. 

“Yeah,” Kili said. He yawned widely and his eyes fluttered shut. “You’ll see.” 

Bilbo didn’t know what he was supposed to see. He’d barely met Kili, how was he supposed to know if they could ever be friends? Their current situation was evident of the fact that their people could barely interact without trying to kill one another. Was there really a chance they could be friends? He didn’t know. 

He watched as Kili’s breathing slowed to that of sleep. His black hair was a tangled mess and his blankets equally chaotic. Bilbo smiled to himself and he reached forwards to straighten the blankets, careful to not wake the sleeping prince. 

“They say the first of our kind to be gifted with flight was Bongo who lived with the Eagles of Manwe and was granted their form in return for his kindness and hospitality,” Bilbo told Kili quietly. He knew Kili probably couldn’t hear him through his sleep, but it felt comforting to speak to him all the same. “Though, most of us don’t believe that.” 

Most hobbits didn’t question where they came from or why they had second forms. It simply was. He supposed the serpentine had their own myths on their creation. Bilbo hadn’t heard of one for them though. Hobbits didn’t bother with learning the origins of those creatures, just how to defeat them in the long war. There were rumors that the serpentine had been created as evil demons to do the bidding of a dark lord, but Bilbo questioned it. The child before him was just that, a child. Not some devil of darkness. 

“You know, I don’t even know how this war started,” he added softly. “I’m not sure any of us do.” They had simply grown with the knowledge that the serpentine were evil; that they wished to exterminate the hobbits. But Bilbo had difficulty believing that the entire serpentine population was so cold-hearted and cruel. Perhaps they thought the same of hobbits; he didn’t know. At least he knew of one who didn’t seem to think so. Kili had offered his friendship so freely and easily. Maybe there was hope for something more than just cold enmity between their people. The sky was dark when Bilbo finally left, but his heart was filled with lightness and a strong resolve. If he could form a friendship with the young serpentine prince, then perhaps anything was possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! :) Things are going to get progressively more interesting!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long for me to get this chapter out! I was really hoping to have it finished earlier but grad school took over, as well as allergies. Plus I got frustrated with the end of this chapter and rewrote it twice. It is the longest so far though so maybe that makes up for it?

It was late when Thorin finally returned from his meetings. The dim firelight of his study did nothing to help his exhaustion and he tried to blink away some of his tiredness, though to not much effect. His desk was cluttered with papers which he shoved into a haphazard pile before collapsing into his chair. Normally if he was this worn he could easily sleep there, but even though he’d not slept in over a day and a half, he couldn’t rest. There was a constant swarm of thoughts and emotions whirling inside him which had kept him on edge. He pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes, trying to alleviate the throbbing headache that was forming. The darkness seemed to help and some of pain and pressure receded. He desperately wanted a drink, and for a moment he played with the idea of it. To allow himself a separation from his current pain and to feel the blissful ignorance of the inebriated was incredibly tempting, but he didn’t reach for the decanter in the far corner of the study. He knew better than to begin drinking. If he allowed himself to drink then there was no telling when he’d stop. He could not be so selfish as to remove what help he could provide to his family and people in this time.

A knock sounded from the door, breaking through his thoughts. “Come in,” he called, sitting upright in his chair.

Balin entered the room, the dim firelight making his white hair shine. Thorin wasn’t particularly surprised to see him. If anyone was to call on him this late it was most likely his chief advisor. Up close Thorin could see the additional lines on Balin’s face and the purple shadows rimming his eyes showed just how exhausted the dwarf was.

“You look tired,” Thorin told him as Balin took the seat opposite his. Balin shot him a glare over his silver rimmed spectacles. Thorin half expected Balin to remind him that he knew very well how he looked and didn’t need Thorin to comment on it, as Balin would occasionally do whenever Thorin made a less than positive comment. But Balin chose not to.

“As do you,” Balin replied instead. Thorin shrugged in reply. He knew he must look terrible, his eyes burned and his hair felt lank with lack of attention, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“How are they?” he asked, unsure exactly if he wanted to hear, but compelled to ask nonetheless.

“As well as can be expected,” Balin replied, sighing. “Lady Dis hasn’t been seen for most of the day. Prince Fili was in the training arena last I checked.”

Thorin nodded mechanically. Their responses were familiar. Dis would refuse anyone’s company and disappear for hours without notice and Fili’s already intense dedication to his training redoubled. Thorin chose to throw himself into his work as king and make himself as busy as possible. The fact that he was now accustomed to his family’s response to death would have been disturbing if it weren’t for the fact that he was too numb to truly consider it. It felt like a part of him was about to shatter and he was walking the shard thin edges, trying to keep it from breaking, but not knowing how. He was sure that looking too far into their responses would send him over that edge.

“We’ll need to begin planning.” Balin said those words softly, but Thorin felt his stomach turn to ice. He didn’t need to ask to know what Balin was talking about.

“We need more time,” he managed quietly. His throat didn’t seem to want to work and it took two tries to get his words out.

“How much time?” Balin countered.

“As long as it takes.” They would wait till they found Kili, whether that took hours, days, even weeks. Every dwarrow would search; no matter how long it took, they would bring him home. They had lived through so many funerals already, Thorin’s grandparents, parents, his brother in law, and his brother. Each time their family had become one person less, but they had held together in the knowledge that their lost loved ones would find rest in the halls of their forebears. But could Kili’s spirit find its way if he was not buried in the earth, beside his father and family? There didn’t seem to be a way of knowing, but the idea of an empty tomb for Kili made him cringe in revulsion. They _had_ find him.

“You need to at least consider planning,” Balin said. Thorin forced his hands to stay steady and tried to ignore Balin’s words. He _couldn’t_ handle it, he just- couldn’t. He had always been prepared for the eventuality that those older than him would pass away, he hadn’t considered burying one a generation younger than himself. “If we can’t find him we will have to-“

“We will find him!” Thorin growled, his relaxed mood vanished, blood pounding in his ears. He was panting with sharp breaths and felt himself shaking. “I’ll not set a deadline on my nephew’s life!”

“I didn’t mean-“ Balin halted, snapping his mouth shut. He shook his head and looked down at the table. “That is not what I meant.” He spoke quietly and Thorin instantly regretted his outburst. Of course Balin hadn’t meant that. Balin, who had helped raise Fili and Kili, who cared for them as he would if they were his own children. He knew Balin was right, that it was his duty to plan for all possible eventualities. That didn’t make it easy. Thorin lowered himself back into his chair, only then realizing that he’d half stood in his anger. He closed his eyes and controlled his breathing, trying to exhale out the anger frizzing away inside him. The anger had brought with it a surge of energy, but with that gone the energy had left him as well. His heart rate slowed and he felt the drain of the last few days more heavily than before. In all honesty, he couldn’t remember a time when he was not exhausted. At least not since he had become king. He was drawn from his thoughts by the touch of Balin’s warm hand over his own. The gesture was familiar, and he felt himself calming and slowly opened his eyes. Balin’s kind eyes were tinted with sadness and shone brightly. “You should get some rest, Thorin.”

“I can’t,” he said, shaking his head. How was he supposed to rest when any minute Kili could be in danger? He couldn’t close his eyes without seeing Kili, running from something or calling out to him in need. He was consumed by a restless urgency to do _something_ , anything to help bring Kili home. This game of patient waiting was driving him apart.

“You are the king,” Balin reminded him, as if that was something he regularly forgot. “You need to keep your strength up.”

“How am I supposed to rest when I don’t even know where he is?”

“We will find him,” Balin said. He sounded so certain, that for a moment Thorin allowed himself to fully believe it. Balin was the most quixotic realist he’d ever met, and if it weren’t for the fact that he knew Balin exceeding well, he’d had said that combination couldn’t exist. Except there he was, able to plan for any eventuality, but always believing in the best outcome. It was a trait that Thorin relied upon, and was ever grateful for.

“I should check on them,” he said eventually. Balin nodded, taking his statement as his queue to leave. They both stood. Some of his energy seemed to have returned and he felt slightly more capable of handling the future than he had for the past hours. Balin was right, they would find him. They could not give up hope just yet.

“ _May Mahal watch over you, melhekhuh_ ,” Balin said, before departing. Thorin stood in the dimly lit hallway and watched Balin leave. Balin had cleared his mind and leveled his spirit, but he would be remiss to believe that he could always depend on his advisor. Balin was old, and growing older still. He couldn’t expect Balin to stay alive for as long as Thorin would need him. What would he do when Balin did pass on through Mahal’s doors? He didn’t know how he’d be able to manage everything without the dwarf. Thorin shook those thoughts from his head. He needed to focus on what he could do right then, the future would have to wait.

Thorin paused, he had been walking without much thought, but his feet seemed to have known where to take him. He was just outside the upper level of the main training area. There were no torches lit in this part, but like most of his kind, he needed very little light to see his way around. He walked to the open arched window, careful to stay in the shadows and looked out. Fili was on the floor below, fighting against a wood and straw figure, both swords whirling and flashing. There were two other training figures which had been demolished previously and the one he was currently hacking at seemed close to done as well. Fili was sweating from the effort, and he still wore yesterday’s clothing, though the more formal emerald green coat with gold stitching had been tossed aside. Thorin could see Fili’s arms shaking whenever he paused to catch his breath, but his strokes were certain and he did not falter.

Thorin wasn’t sure how long he stood there. It could have been several minutes or hours while he watched Fili, allowing his mind to wander to the soothing thwacks of Fili’s swords. The sound of soft footsteps brought him from his reverie and he turned to see his sister standing just behind him. Dis stood tall and resolute, there were no more tears in her eyes though they were still tinted pink. She looked in many ways the same as their mother, or what Thorin could remember of her. Strong as the mountain that supported them, able to withstand any blow. When had they grown to be like their parents? Their spirits were as hard as the strongest steel which had been worked till it no longer bent. Thorin could still remember the Dis who was he little sister, the one who had teased him as a child and ran away, giggling, when he claimed retribution. He didn’t know when she’d left, except that she was not the sister he saw before him.

“How long?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Ever since he heard,” she replied, eyes still trained on her son. Thorin felt his hands dig into the stone as another bought of regret took him. So Fili had been here, fighting invisible foes, ever since they had heard that Kili had snuck out on the latest raid and not returned. It felt like a lifetime ago, but Kili’s absence had been noticed only the previous dinner. They’d spent the next few hours searching more and more desperately for a sign from him, for anything that would tell them where he was. But there wasn’t anything. He hadn’t even a note. It was only when the dwarrows had returned from that day’s fighting and after an intense round of questioning that they discovered Kili had snuck out of the palace and disguised himself as an archer. Two dwarrows had claimed to have seen someone who _may_ have looked like Kili, though both could say nothing more. Even that information wasn’t easy to get out from the dwarrows, though Thorin could admittedly understand why. No one wanted to admit that they may have seen their prince, unaccompanied and unprotected. And worse still, left him behind. Because Kili had not returned with the soldiers. They’d sent out search parties immediately, but by then they had little hope of finding him alive. Those were perhaps the most agonizing hours. It was late in the evening when one of his generals returned. They had found a small dagger of Kili’s, but no other sign of him remained. The news was far better than they had feared, but left them with no reassurance either. Thorin had sent the general away more forcefully than he ought to have. He could not blame the general for not finding Kili, but neither could he completely control his temper. He knew that they must have done everything they could. He knew the guilt that was evident in each dwarrow’s eye, the same guilt that plagued him. _A kazad protects his own_. It was the rule their people lived by, and the one that had kept them whole, even through the years of war. But they had failed to protect Kili, and now no one knew what state he could be in.

If only he had spoken differently, or at least bit back the burst of anger that seemed to always bubble up uncontrollably, then perhaps Kili would still be here with them. He and his brother would be together, probably coming up with their typical mischief. Dis would be smiling by his side, laughing at his worry over them and telling him to allow them to stay young and free for a while yet. She wouldn’t be so anxious beside him, worrying if they would have to have yet another family funeral. But when Kili came to ask to join the army he had snapped, those words now perhaps the last ones he’d ever have with his sister-son.

_“Why can’t you let me go? Fili fights. I deserve the chance to as well.”_

_“No, Kili, you are too young. You must stay here.”_

_“There are recruits near my age. Why can they fight but not me? Uncle, I can’t just stay here, trapped forever!”_

_“You will do as I say, Kili! You will not enter this war until I have allowed it. That is an order.”_

Kili had stormed off and that was the last Thorin had seen of him. Thorin noticed Dis’s hands on the rail, white with the strength of which she was holding it. He placed his own hand over hers and she allowed their fingers to entwine. It was this war that was like an ever pressing darkness, constantly threatening to tear apart his family and people. If only he knew of a way to end it. A way to bring peace, that unknown state, back to his people. Yet the khâzundûsh were vicious and strove to bring his people to the brink of existence. This war had been fought for generations, by his father, his grandfather, and even those before. If they had not found a way for peace, then what led him to expect that he could?

Fili paused, breathing hard, his hands pressed to bent knees. Thorin felt a slight tug on his hand and together he and Dis descended the stairs to the lower level of the training area. Fili watched them, still panting slightly. When they reached the floor he picked up the water jug by his side and drank from it, eyes averted from them.

“Fili, dear,” Dis said quietly, “You’ve been here long enough. It’s time to go.” Dis held out her arms, but Fili shook his head, the water jug in his hand shaking.

“I can’t-if I do it’ll-“ Fili snapped his jaw shut and shook his head. Fili didn’t need to finish the sentence for them to understand. Thorin knew that feeling all too well. It was that feeling that if he stayed in that room, then he could pretend as if none of it had happened. That his brother was simply in another room. If he left the training area then it meant passing his brother’s room and somehow seeing that room empty made everything all the more real.

“Oh, Fili,” Dis said softly. Fili turned away from them and wiped at his face, breath still ragged.

“He’s not dead,” Fili whispered. He’d said it so quietly the words barely carried to them. Thorin wanted to reach for him and hold him, protect him as he had done when Fili was but a child. Except Fili wasn’t a child any longer, and Thorin didn’t know how else to comfort him. Fili spun around then, and it was a sharp twist to his heart to see Fili’s face so overcome with anger and pain.

“He’s not dead!” Fili shouted as if by saying it louder that made it all the more true. “I’d know,” he said, though more quietly this time, voice cracking. Dis swept forwards and Fili allowed himself to be pulled into her arms. He leaned in to her embrace and Thorin placed an arm around each of them. It was all he knew to do.

“Your Highness, a letter has arrived,” a courier said, interrupting the scene. It took Thorin a moment to process what he’d heard. His mind so focused elsewhere.

“Not now,” Thorin said, “Please send it to my office. I will attend to it later.” The courier looked down at the letter and back up but did not move.

“Please Your Highness, it’s from the Hawk’s Keep. It’s addressed to you.”

Thorin gaped at him and felt rather than saw Dis and Fili turn to stare at the courier as well. The young dwarf walked forwards carefully, letter held out. Thorin took the letter with shaking hands, the three of them staring down at it. Curling letters on the outside read _To the King of Erebor from the Highest Reach of the Hawk’s Keep_ and a red wax seal with the khâzundûsh royal emblem, a screeching hawk, was stamped over the edge. Thorin broke the seal with trembling hands and held the letter out so they might all read the neat flowing writing.

_Thorin of the line of Durin, King of Erebor_

_As you are undoubtedly aware, your nephew, Kili Durin, fought in yesterday’s battle and did not return to his home. He was found injured on the battlefield by myself and my guard and we have taken him in for healing. He is alive and has sustained no further injuries than those he gained while in battle. You would be correct in assuming this an unusual gesture. Do not take it lightly._

_I have spoken with your nephew and he offered something to me that I never could have imagined: friendship. Our people have been at war for so long, the idea of one of your kind offering something other than hate, let alone friendship, seems unbelievable. Yet it is true. If it is possible for your nephew to offer friendship to me, then perhaps even more is possible. I offer a return of this friendship, to you. Meet with me in one weeks’ time and I will return your nephew to you in perfect health. I hope that, in return, you will come with an open mind and stay to negotiate arrangements for the future status between our people. Your nephew has shown to be open to the idea of acceptance between our two people. I hope that he is not alone in this._

_We will await you at the ground entrance to the Shire, midmorning seven days hence. Come alone._

_We have each lost enough lives to this war, it is time we worked towards peace._

_Sincerely,_

_Bilbo Baggins, King of the Shire_

Thorin stared at the letter, shocked beyond belief. If he had felt numb earlier then that was nothing to how he felt at that moment. Thorin barely registered Dis snatching the letter from his limp hand, his mind reeling with the new information. If the letter was to be believed, then Kili was alive. He was _alive_. His desire to believe the letter was almost unbearable. But could he allow himself to do that? The khâzundûsh had proven themselves tricksters in the past, what was there to say that this letter was true? That it had even come from their king?

“Do you believe it?” Dis asked. Thorin looked down to see both Fili and Dis staring at him, eyes filled with hope and pain. They wanted to believe it as much as he did. But Thorin knew his doubts were valid and he could not offer them false hope. He shook his head.

“I don’t know.”

“Well I do,” Fili said. He stood tall and glared at each of them. “We have proof _right here_ that Kili is alive! I _told_ you he was. What more do you need?” Fili thrust the letter out for them to see again. He glared them down, waiting for one of them to contradict him. Thorin hated to be the one to do so, but Fili needed to understand.

“Fili-” Thorin began, but Fili noted his tone and rolled his eyes. Thorin gritted his teeth but kept speaking. “That letter could easily be false. We have no way of knowing if they are lying or not.”

“What you going to do then? Leave him there?” Fili shot back in fury, new tears falling from his eyes. “Of course this is true! People don’t make up nonsense like this!” Thorin bit his cheek to keep himself from lashing out at Fili, the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth instead. It did no good to argue with Fili over this. He was too young to understand.

“They could easily make something like this up,” Thorin replied. He’d tried to keep a hold on his voice, but it was still louder than he’d intended. “And of course I’m not going to leave him there.” He snapped in addition.

“Tell me you’ll go,” Fili demanded. He marched forwards till he stood just before Thorin. His eyes were narrowed, and he was so close that Thorin could make out the shades of blue, Durin blue, in his eyes. “Promise me you will.”

“I promise,” Thorin bit out through gritted teeth. They continued to glare at each other till Fili seemed to decide that he was satisfied. He gave a sharp nod then stepped back, exhaling deeply. Fili pinched the bridge of his nose with a hand and shut his eyes. Some of the show of energy that Fili had been displaying seemed to disappear and he looked worn, as if he might waver as he stood.

“I am tired and as we will most likely not get any further information about Kili tonight I think I will go to bed. Goodnight mother,” he said and placed a light kiss to her cheek, he paused when turning to Thorin and said slightly stiffly, though still with care, “goodnight uncle.”

“You should get some rest too,” Dis said to Thorin as they watched Fili leave.

“So everyone says,” Thorin remarked. Dis simply shook her head. Thorin walked with her back to her rooms before calling a guard to deliver the letter to Balin. Balin would know who to share the letter with and would most likely have a hundred ideas about it, but it would have to wait for morning. For now sleep was calling and it was everything he could do to change out of his formal wear and not sleep in his current clothing. The promise he made to Fili still hung heavy on his lips. It hadn’t been necessary to promise it, he would go even if Fili had not demanded it. If there was a chance that Kili was alive he would go. No matter the chance that it was merely a ploy to capture, and most likely kill, two of the Durins. He could not leave Kili with those creatures. Even if that meant risking his own life.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive my silly Khuzdul. I did what I could from looking at khuzdul4u's tumblr. 
> 
> melhekhuh - my king
> 
> khâzundûsh - bird-people 
> 
> Thank you again to everyone who has commented! I'm so glad y'all have enjoyed it so far and I appreciate every one of your comments! :)


	4. Chapter 4

 

Market days were typically crowded, the combination of delicious food and fresh gossip – both regarded as necessities of life – meant the lower levels of the keep were nearly impossible to navigate without having to be excused several times. Yet it seemed especially packed that day. The reason for the additional activity wasn’t difficult to guess. Bilbo wouldn’t have needed to notice the barely concealed whispers or sideways glances as he walked past to know that most of them had arrived for the sole purpose of discussing the healing of Kili Durin. It wasn’t exactly an often occurrence that serpentine royalty was found wounded on the battlefield and brought inside the Shire for healing. The whisperers gave him warm greetings as he passed, but the moment he’d walked on they would begin again in barely concealed voices.

“Bright blue eyes, I hear he’s got!”

“Devil’s eyes! Mark my word, there’s something evil in ‘em.”

“They should be stamped out, the lot of them!”

He tried not to listen.

Perhaps he was being too harsh. The late hours he’d spent on writing and rewriting the letter to their king had left him bad-tempered. It had been necessary to get the wording exactly right, assertive without threatening; decisivebut not dangerously so. It was long into the night and after the fire had been filled with parchment that he finally deemed the letter satisfactory. The choice to heal an heir of their enemy and attempt to instigate negotiations was immensely terrifying. He had placed all his hopes for peace on this one interaction; if it went badly, then he could not imagine peace ever being an option. It was times like this that made Bilbo miss his parents more than ever. His mother who was courageous and brave would have known what to do and his father, who was steady no matter the storm, would have calmed his doubts. But his parents were gone, and had taken with them any he might rely upon. Yet not having someone to speak to of these concerns was part of being king, he supposed. It was his duty to hold his head high and act with confidence for the best interest of his people. He could not afford the luxury of relying on others when there were so many who relied on him.

It seemed that, though those who were against his choices spoke more loudly than the others, there were still plenty of hobbits who had either not made their minds yet or even thought healing the serpent as the right thing to do. Their voices were still hushed, but there was a tone of excitement to plenty of the conversations and the word ‘peace’ spoken throughout. However, it wasn’t until he spoke with Holman Cotton that a hobbit spoke to him directly about it. They had been discussing Holman’s most recent crop of tomatoes – something Bilbo made sure to do every time he visited the market partially because he knew the old hobbit was lonely and enjoyed their conversations – when Holman paused, thinking.

“You know,” Holman had said, leaning on his good leg and inspecting Bilbo, “there’s not many brave enough to say it, but I think you’re doing the right thing.” Though the surrounding hobbits did not turn to face them, the sound of their conversations lessened. Holman continued to speak as if he hadn’t noticed the difference. “Next week marks ten years without my little girl. I think she’d have been proud of you.” He added with a sharp nod. Holman’s only child, Daisy, had been one of four young recruits who had died tragically on their first fight. There had been some logistical errors and the new recruits had been surrounded before help could come to their aid. It was one of the worst accidents to occur and remained a heartfelt loss even as the years past. “Never wanted a fight, that one. No,” he shook his head again, “we’ve had our years of war. It’s time to try for something else. She’d have said to help that young’un and I think she’d have been right.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo said earnestly. “It means much to hear you say that.”

“It’s nothing,” Gardiner waved him off and scratched at his eye before turning their conversation back to the safer topics of herbs and spices. They continued to talk for a while till Bilbo believed Homan’s spirits somewhat renewed.

Bilbo hadn’t known whether to expect the hobbits of the Shire to speak their mind to him or not. Sometimes they took no issue in stating their thoughts, but other times they were reserved and only said what they meant in a roundabout way. He was glad though that Holman had chosen to speak with him about it. Their talk had refreshed him, and Bilbo felt more able to cope with the later conversations than he had previously. It helped too that some of the hobbits were brave enough to mention their support to him. Most didn’t say it outright, but several claimed that “Holman was a good sort of folk who knew what he was talking about” which was as much as he could ask for. Their avian reserve didn’t per se limit praise, but it often meant that hobbits would only say a partial of their actual intentions.

Even with the recent tension about their guest, it was nice to see the markets bustling again. His mother had put in so much effort into seeing the market restored, despite the war. It was easy in the long years of war for artists and crafters to fall by the side, but Belladonna had made sure that they didn’t disappear. They needed to retain their culture, war or no. And in a sense, it was flourishing. It was almost easy in moments like this to imagine that the war simply didn’t exist. Watching the goings on of the hobbits – bright eyed children running through the stalls and the hearty laughter from adults with ale in hand – lent such a picture of serenity that the terror and carnage of war seemed like nothing more than a bad dream.

Yet it only took a slightly deeper look to see the truth. While the stalls of toys and trinkets existed, they were still vastly outnumbered by those selling weapons or other necessities. And while hobbits smiled and laughed, it was easily noticeable that it wasn’t always genuine. It was both real and somehow fake at the same time. Most hobbits were comfortable showing joy and enthusiasm though their reserve kept them from sadness or loss. Bilbo knew their reserve was meant to protect them – by controlling their emotions they could control themselves – but that didn’t mean there weren’t downsides. Nothing ever felt quite real when they could never really feel.

He was shaken from his thoughts when the sound of his name came calling through the crowd. Frodo Baggins was winding his way through the crowd towards him, black head of curls a mess as always. They embraced, Bilbo happy to wrap his arms around Frodo’s small frame.

“Hi Uncle Bilbo,” Frodo said, voice muffled as his face was still pressed against Bilbo’s coat. Bilbo greeted him in return, already feeling lighter of heart for his presence. They shared small talk while waiting in line to purchase their customary fresh hot cross buns from a food stall then wandered to a quieter section of the lower halls.

They sat together at the edge of a fountain, still in the shade of the overhanging buildings, but far enough from the bustle of the market to be relatively peaceful. The summer sun was intense and it heated the breeze that swept through the halls. The air smelled of honeysuckle and wisteria whose flowers hung heavy from the vines that climbed the walls of the keep. It was much more peaceful in this section of the lower halls and Bilbo was glad to share the space with Frodo. He didn’t often have time to spend with his young nephew, so he enjoyed every moment they had together. If he could have chosen for himself, he would have taken Frodo in when his parents had died. But as king he had little enough time for himself and not nearly enough for the proper care that a child deserved. So instead, the Brandybucks of the Great Hall had taken him in and cared for him as one of their own. Frodo seemed to like it well enough even if it wasn’t home.

They chatted peacefully until a group of fauntlings came nearby and began playing conckers. It looked like they were having a competition except that several of them kept purposefully tossing the brightly colored chestnuts out of range so they fell over the edge of the market and down towards the ground below. They made a big show of diving after them and catching them just before they reached the ground then flying back triumphantly. Frodo turned his back on them and silently finished his snack, a slight frown to his lips. The hobbit children reminded Bilbo of a topic he had wished to bring up with Frodo that day. He made sure to wait till Frodo had nearly finished eating before broaching the subject.

“So how was school?” He asked. Frodo immediately stiffened. Frodo tried to school his face to neutral, but he didn’t yet have the same skill at their reserve as an older hobbit and so wasn’t quite able to hide his frustration, though he did try.

“Fine.” Frodo replied and shuffled his feet about slightly, avoiding Bilbo’s gaze. His eyes darted to the hobbits and their game. Bilbo wished that Frodo had felt comfortable enough with him to tell him without prompting, but this time he couldn’t leave the subject alone.

“Really? Is that what your teacher would say?” Bilbo had learned about the school incident earlier that day from Mirabella Brandybuck. Mirabella had told Bilbo that Frodo had started a fight with another student, but none of the adult hobbits had been able to figure out the reason for it. Neither Frodo nor the other hobbit children were willing to tell. Mirabella had made sure each hobbit sat at opposing corners of the room after that and they had quietly complied for the rest of the day. She couldn’t be concerned about each event that happened in the classroom, but this one had particularly stuck with her and she had wanted to share it with Bilbo. He was glad she had done so. Bilbo knew Frodo was generally quite kind and calm, but even with a war ongoing it was important for them to remember that violence was not the best way to solve problems.

Frodo shook his head and continued to stare down at his feet where the curls on his left foot had gone wild. He eventually spoke quietly, still looking down at his feet. “I got in trouble. For hitting.”

“Why?” He asked. He could tell that Frodo was uncomfortable, he was pulling at the band of the pendant around his neck which held small drawings of Frodo’s parents, but Bilbo wasn’t willing to let him out of scrutiny just yet. Frodo needed to learn that there were consequences for violence. Since his parents were gone, it was up to those who remained to look after Frodo to make sure that he grew up to become a proper Baggins.

“They were talking bad about you,” Frodo said, his words coming out in a rush. “He said you shouldn’t have helped the serpent.” Frodo’s voice was much quieter and Bilbo had to lean in to hear him. “He said his ma told him they’re all demons and any who don’t kill ‘em on sight are just as bad.”

“Oh Frodo,” Bilbo said wearily. He reached out and placed an arm around Frodo’s shoulders, letting the young hobbit rest against him. It was true that many of the younger hobbits touted the same ideas as their parents, both for and against different aspects of the war. “I’m sorry.”

Frodo relaxed into Bilbo’s embrace, his hand still tightly wound around the pendant. “They shouldn’t say bad things about you.”

“Everyone has a right to express their opinions, Frodo, even if we disagree with them.” Bilbo lightly squeezed Frodo’s shoulder. “That doesn’t mean you should hit people. Problems aren’t solved through violence.”

Frodo nodded slowly, but his brows were furrowed. “If fighting isn’t the best way, then why do we fight the serpents?”

“Frodo, it’s-“ Bilbo paused, trying to determine the best way to explain it to Frodo. “It’s not always that simple. Sometimes there isn’t another way.”

“But you found one, didn’t you? That’s why you helped that serpent?” Frodo looked up at him, eyes wide and believing.

Bilbo didn’t have an answer for that. He still couldn’t explain exactly why he had helped the young serpentine prince. It hadn’t been some thought out plan to trade him for peace. He had just seen an injured child pleading for help and done what he could. There was no way to know if his actions would help end the fighting with the serpentine or make it worse than ever.

“Can I meet him?” Frodo asked, a hopeful edge to his tone.

Bilbo almost gaped at Frodo in surprise. Even the hobbits he’d spoken with who approved his actions wanted to stay as far away from the serpent as possible. Frodo was the only one so far who seemed eager to meet the serpent and treat him as something other than a prisoner of war. Kili Durin wasn’t exactly their prisoner, but neither was he their guest. In the time that Bilbo had met with Kili, the serpent had not seemed to pose a sever threat, but Bilbo could not allow harm to come to Frodo. “I don’t think that would be the best idea.”

“Oh, I see.” Frodo nodded glumly.

“Maybe you could meet him in the future, if all goes well.” There was no way to predict how their negotiations would go, if they occurred at all. But if somehow they did agree to at least a temporary truce, then perhaps Frodo could get his wish. It looked like Kili Durin was becoming the link between their people who could possibly bring truce. Bilbo hoped that position would hold.

Bilbo checked the time and noticed that the weekly storytelling was about to begin. The storytelling had been designed so parents might have a place to occupy their children while they went shopping. However Odo Proudfoot had become so popular that even many of the adult hobbits stayed just to listen to his stories. Bilbo and Frodo made their way over to the seats which were filling up already, Frodo attempting to discretely clean his face of blueberry. He was glad Merry and Pippin had said hello to Frodo, even if they were a duo of chaos. They had distracted Frodo from his melancholy which was worth far more to Bilbo than he could say.

Bilbo didn’t always stay at the markets long enough to attend the story telling. It was easy to allow his duties as king to consume his time, but attending markets was also an important part of his office. Here any hobbit who wished to speak with him had the opportunity. It gave him a chance to know his people’s wishes in addition to spending time watching over Frodo and the other young hobbits who listened to the stories.

Bilbo stood near the back of the seating with the other adults who came to listen while the younger hobbits picked their seats. There was an argument between Sam and Merry and Pippin who had all saved seats for Frodo and were demanding he sit in each space at the same time. There was so much jostling that they knocked over young Asphodel Brandybuck which set her coughing. Odo Proudfoot finally managed to convince everyone to settle down and they took to their seats in anticipation.

“So, what story would we like to hear today?” Odo asked, grinning at his crowd. “I’ve got the one about Frog and Toad, any takers?”

“We did that one last time!” Cried Falco Chubb-Baggins.

“Oh! I suppose we did! How silly of me not to catch that.” Odo said with a small wink to the crowd. “Now what story to pick?” He said and held up his handwritten book of stories. The book was a massive tome that took two hands to carry and had been hand painted with beautiful drawings for each story by Odo’s wife, Lily.

I want to hear the one with the trolls!”

“No, trolls stink! We should do the fairies story!”

“You stink!”

“Hey-“

“Whoa there,” Odo said loudly to break up the argument, “no one’s story sticks. Pansy, please give back Hanna’s toy.” Pansy frowned at Odo but then gave back Hanna’s fairy doll. Hanna sniffled when she got her doll back, but then Pansy brushed out the dolls hair and that seemed to clear up the issue.

“Can you tell us where hobbits come from?”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that today, but I can tell the one about old Dodero and the magic lantern.” That was met with an _ohh_ of appreciation and the children quieted down to listen. Bilbo was fairly sure Odo couldn’t tell them where hobbits came from on any day, let alone this one. The tale of how they became known as hobbits was even older than the one which told of their wings and second form and it would have perhaps been interesting if anyone had known it. But the story of that origin had been long lost, and so while they still referred to themselves as hobbits, they no longer knew what it had originally meant. To them it simply meant who they were.

There was little oral history, and even less written, of how they had lived before the war. They knew that back in the days of peace they had lived mostly in holes dug in the ground rather similar to burrowing owls. There were still relics of these smials below, but they had fall abandoned in disuse once they had built their homes in the trees. There were still some similarities between the structures though even with the move. Their fascination with round doors had held, as well as their gardens, now on the rooves of their raised homes. It made a beautiful sight when flying high above, to see the many greens and plants atop each home.

Bilbo found himself focusing on watching Frodo and the others more than listening to the stories. He’d heard those tales himself when he was their age, but there was only so much time he had to spend with Frodo. Odo was finished before he had quite realized it and Frodo was waving good bye to him. Bilbo smiled at him and Frodo returned the smile after a moment’s hesitation. He walked a few paces then looked back at Bilbo, making sure he was still there. Bilbo wasn’t sure Frodo would ever trust those he cared about to still be there when they separated, even for a short while. He didn’t know how long it would take for that fear to go away, or if it ever would. With an ongoing war there was always the chance that loss would happen again.

“I still think you should try again.”

Bilbo nearly started in surprise. He turned to see Fastolph Bolger standing just behind him, calloused thumbs tucked into suspenders. He was staring after Frodo, wiry hair somehow not touched by the wind, and Bilbo suppressed a sigh. The topic had mostly been dropped by the hobbits, but if there was any to bring it up again, it was Fastolph. Bilbo couldn’t recall a time when the hobbit had chosen to keep his opinions to himself. He seemed to have decided that their reserve was meant only for emotions, not mouths.

“The council has made its decision. It will not have changed,” Bilbo replied heavily. The time when Frodo Baggins might have been named his heir had passed along with his parents. The rules of succession, like most of their rules, were complicated beyond sense and twisted with exemptions and minute specifications. It had taken months to fully read through the rules till he finally knew that if he did not produce an heir of his own, or marry someone with an heir already, then the council would have to unanimously affirm the naming of a new heir. Without the naming of an heir, the crown would fall to Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. She was an excellent warrior, but while she excelled in the battlefield, she failed in the court. She lacked the restraint necessary to rule fairly and the aggression which faired her well in a fight caused trepidation amongst the hobbits for her reign.

It was partially this that had caused Bilbo to ask permission of Primula and Drogo to name their son his heir. There were few hobbits whom Bilbo had come close to, but Primula Bracegirdle had been one of them. She reminded him of sunflowers, cheerful and positive. She had somehow always known what to say to cheer him up and had guided him when he was uncertain. He had been overjoyed when she announced her engagement to Drogo Baggins and later the coming of their first child. She and Drogo had been honored when he proposed naming Frodo his heir and they had worked together to raise Frodo to prepare him for his potential future. The idea had been quite popular amongst the Shire; nearly all of the council had seen the benefit of the idea. It was only Lobelia’s will which kept a unanimous approval from occurring and even that began to wane.

But then Primula and Drogo had died and had taken with them the soft smiles and warm friendship that he had come to rely on. Frodo hadn’t been quite old enough to fully understand what had happened, but he felt the loss of his parents keenly even so. The loss of his parents also meant a change in the thoughts of the council. Young Frodo had become Poor Frodo and the time that he might have persuaded the council to vote favorably was over before it had hardly begun. Perhaps it was for the best. Frodo was struggling enough at it was with the loss of his parents, he did not need the additional burden that came with being heir. Yet as the prospect of naming an heir became less and less likely, the options lessened between either marrying or letting the crown default to Lobelia. Bilbo had so far managed to avoid the idea of marriage, but he wasn’t sure how much long that would last.

“You ought to marry,” Fastolph said, nodding as if to make his statement more fact than opinion.

Apparently not long at all.

Bilbo remained silent. There was very little that could be said when Fastolph had put his mind to a subject. Bilbo had found the least painful way was to simply hear him out.

“There are a lot of lovely lasses who’d be interested,” he said, nodding towards where Amaranth Brandybuck, Elenor Gardner, and Hilda Bracegirdle who were chattering happily amongst themselves. “I’m sure they’d jump at the chance.”

Bilbo watched them talk happily, drinks in hand and each carried baskets of flower or fruit and vegetables. It was true that he could marry. He had more than once been made aware that an offer of courtship would not go unappreciated, but he had never acted. It wasn’t that there was something wrong about them. Most of those who had shown interested he recognized as incredible hobbits - intelligent, quick with a blade, and beautiful. It was simply that Bilbo had never felt particularly drawn to any of them. Not in the way his father had stared with unhidden adoration at his mother. His memories of his father felt worn as if with great age, but he remembered his love. He remembered how his father would take his mother’s hand and kiss her tenderly and the way he would hold her after a long day and sing softly to her till all the weariness of the day had drained away. Bilbo had yet to feel anything similar for anyone. Perhaps it was selfish of him, but he felt he’d given so much of himself to his people already as their king, he wanted to save at least this choice for himself. His mother had wished love for him and he wanted to hold to that wish.

“I will think on it,” he told Fastolph instead of voicing his true thoughts. Fastolph frowned minutely, but he recognized that there would be no pushing Bilbo further that day. He wished Bilbo a good day and left into the market.

It was nearing time for him to leave the market with a young sparrow approached him, letter in hand.

“Your Highness, a letter has arrived.”

Bilbo received the letter which was sealed in dark green wax and impressed with the image of a tightly wound cobra with open mouth and sharp fangs. He hadn’t known whether to expect a reply at all; it was just as likely that the serpentine would launch an immediate, full out attack upon hearing the state of their prince rather than replying by letter. Bilbo swallowed his nerves, noticing that his throat had gone dry. He fought his anxiety away as he broke the seal, careful to avoid the serpent detailing. He unrolled the heavy parchment, careful to keep his hands steady as he read, though they wanted to shake.

_Bilbo Baggins, King of the Shire-_

_Your message is indeed strange and if it were not for the bidding of my advisors I might had destroyed it immediately. Do you think my nephew’s life to be something I would willingly barter with? That he simply a bargaining tool? You would be a fool to think so. I understand that your kind treats their families differently, but even you must see that kidnapping my nephew in order to have the upper hand at negotiations is despicable. I expected better of you._

_If it is truly as you say, that you have saved the life of my nephew and offer him safety still, then I may consider not launching an full out attack for his return. Yet what reason have I to believe you? Your kind has betrayed us before; there is little reason to believe you will not do so again. It is because of your people that he was injured in the first place, so you will understand my disbelief in the type of care you could give him._

If _it is true that you have not harmed my nephew and return him to us, completely unharmed, then I_ may _be willing to discuss negotiations in a non-partisan location._

_However, understand this: if I find that you have harmed my nephew, or that you have made a game of his life, then there are no words to describe how quickly I and my people will attack and how deep our poison will spread. We will make this war seem as nothing but child’s play till this point and we will not stop till every one of your kind has been grounded and our blood avenged._

_Underestimate us, and you will lose everything._

_Thorin son of Thrain son of Thror – King of Erebor_

Bilbo exhaled a ragged sigh as he reread the letter. It was not as good as he could have hoped for, but given the circumstances, he supposed it was understandable. He would not have responded well either had Frodo’s life been held hostage by their enemy. He didn’t understand what their king meant by claiming that they treated their families differently, but it did make the feathers in his hair bristle in annoyance. If their king did not expect Bilbo to do what was best for his people, then he was quite remiss. Bilbo was willing to help the young prince and had taken the risky step towards peace, but his first and foremost duty was to his people.

He didn’t know what he could do to alleviate the king’s disbelief. It would be best if he could someone convince the king that his nephew was being treated fairly, but even if he could somehow provide evidence, there was no knowing if the king would believe it. And who could truly blame him? Kili’s life depended on their meeting. If they proved wholly unwilling to try for peace then there was no way the hobbits would allow them to leave alive. For Kili it was peace or death. Bilbo could convince his people to allow them to leave if they had shown themselves willing to negotiate, even if only slightly, but these were the people who lead the attack against his own. Because of them, his friends and family had died and unless they negotiated, they would continue to do so.

He rolled up the letter, agitated. His council would want to hear proof that his plan was working and this letter did far from convincing him of their king’s willingness to speak. He needed to know what they were actually dealing with and if it was possible to hope for negotiations. Fortunately, for once, there was actually someone in the Shire who could answer those questions. He had offered friendship, after all, though it was difficult to tell how much that offer had been influenced by the pain medication. Perhaps it was time to see if that offer was genuine.

The midday sun was uncomfortably hot against his feathers and he flew beneath trees and overhangs as he could to avoid its intensity. It was only a short flight to the healer’s ward where the prince was kept. He almost wished it were farther simply for the chance to fly a little longer and relish the feel of cool wind beneath his wings. Bilbo greeted the guards before stepping into the room. He blinked quickly so his eyes would adjust to lack of blinding sun which was covered by thick drapes.

The young prince sat upright and alert in his bed. He looked far better than he had the previous night. Some of the color had returned to his face though it remained pale and Bilbo began to wonder if his dark hair would ever be anything other than a nest of tangles. He looked older than Bilbo had previously guessed, but it was hard to tell his age as their kind aged differently. He didn’t look like an adult, but he couldn’t be terribly far off either.

“How are you feeling?” Bilbo asked stepping into the room properly. The serpentine was far more awake than he had been on Bilbo’s previous visit which only caused him a slight twinge of unease. There was no trusting a serpent’s appearance – they could appear as tranquil as still water yet attack viciously within seconds – but Kili had trusted him the previous evening and some of that trust seemed to have stayed with Bilbo.

“Fine,” Kili replied with a shrug of his right shoulder, the left was still bandaged. He looked down at his knees where he was drumming his fingers. Bilbo guessed that there was more he wanted to say so he took a seat and waited. Kili continued to frown at his knees for a minute before speaking. “So, have you decided what to do with me?”

He asked it casually, but Bilbo could see the layer of tension beneath his calm. It was in the set of his shoulders and the way he refused to look at Bilbo as he asked. Kili may be young, but he was no simpleton. He had known he could trust Bilbo to keep him safe in the healer’s wards, beyond that however, things were less certain.

“Yes,” Bilbo replied and Kili’s gaze snapped up to look at him, bright blue shot with worry. The blue of his eyes still unnerved Bilbo, but less so since he’d spoken with the young serpent. “You will remain here, as our guest, until the arrival of your king in one week.” He refrained from mentioning his uncertainty of what might happen after that.

“Uncle is coming?” Kili asked. His head perked up as he said it, but his brows remained furrowed in confusion.

“Yes, I have a letter here from him,” Bilbo said and held out the letter. He had read through the letter again before his flight and determined no harm could come of Kili’s reading the letter. Kili read the letter intently, his face dropping with each line.

“Well, that’s uncle, alright.” He said morosely and passed back the letter. “What does he mean by negotiations?”

“Peace negotiations,” Bilbo answered. “We are hoping that when your king comes for you, that he will stay to discuss an ending of the war.” A fool’s hope it looked though considering the tone of the letter.

“So you really do want peace.” Bilbo gaze was torn from the letter and back to Kili’s face. Kili has spoken softly, as if in some strange sense of awe. They stared at each other and it felt oddly like seeing each other anew.

“Yes, we really do.”

Kili nodded as if making some internal decision. “I could write a note, if you want, saying I’m fine.”

“That would be appreciated, thank you.” Bilbo stood up and retrieved a sheaf of parchment and quill and ink. Kili struggled with the quill in his right hand which was obviously not the one he usually used for writing. Bilbo pretended not to hear the muttered curse as a blob of ink landed randomly on the page.

“Does this work?” Kili asked when finished and passed over the still wet letter. Bilbo took it carefully and squinted slightly to make out the messy writing.

_Uncle Thorin,_

_I’m in the Shire and I promise they haven’t hurt me. I’m really sorry for running out on you like that. Please come get me soon. Tell Ma and Fili that I’m okay._

_\- Kili_

“Oh hang on,” Kili said just as Bilbo finished reading. He ran a hand through his hair and pulled out a small silver hair clip. “Here, you should put that with the letter, that way he should actually believe you.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo said and took the item. It was quite beautiful, intricately worked silver embedded with small emeralds. He carefully pocketed it along with Kili’s letter. “I did have one more question.”

“What?” Kili asked, face open. Bilbo hesitated a moment, then finally asked the question that had botheredhim since he first found Kili.

“Kili, why were you on the battlefield?”

Kili went very still. Bilbo immediately felt himself tense, his body sensing danger, and he forced himself to breathe. Kili was not angry with him, nor was he a threat, but the conflicting emotions on his face left Bilbo confused and uneasy. “I wasn’t supposed to be there,” he said quietly. “I guess I…I don’t know.” He grimaced. He had resumed tapping and was staring down at his feet. “My brother, Fili, he fights. So do most of my friends. I hated watching them risk their lives every day while I sat around and did nothing.”

“So you snuck into the battle.” It wasn’t a foreign concept. Bilbo had heard of it happening in the Shire, mostly by younger siblings who wanted to prove their worth to their elders. Those cases usually didn’t end well.

“Mum is going to kill me. If Uncle doesn’t first.” He grimaced again and looked so dejected that Bilbo’s heart went out to him. He searched his mind for another subject to bring Kili away from his worried thoughts.

“Last night you offered me friendship. Did you truly mean it?”

Kili look up at him in surprise. “Of course I did.” He noticed that Bilbo was still unconvinced and continued. “Look, you could have just let me die there or finished the job yourself, but you didn’t. You chose to save me instead. Besides,” he added, “there’s not many who’d save the life of someone they’re supposed to hate. That told me all I needed about you.”

Bilbo stared at him in surprise. If he was being honest with himself, when he looked at Kili, he did not feel hate. Fear, concern, worry – all those yes, but not hate. It was reassuring somehow.

They spoke little more after that. Kili’s energy had been drained by their discussion and while he had healed quite rapidly in his day of rest, he was still recovering from serious wounds. Bilbo left him as he was falling asleep. Kili remained on his mind through the rest of the day as he attended his duties and it wasn’t till late evening that something happened to distract him further. He had just finished a meeting when a young thrush in the dress of a household staff approached him.

“Your Highness, a guest has arrived. He said he would like to speak with you immediately.”

Bilbo checked the time. It was growing late and only the top branches of the trees still had sunlight. He usually tried to avoid accepting an audience so late in the day, and the recent events had left him more tired than usual. “Please tell him I will speak with him tomorrow. I have a small break midmorning and would be glad to speak to him then.”

“Please, Your Highness, I told him you would not be accepting visits so late, but he was most insistent.” The thrush worried the edges of her tunic and Bilbo wondered who could have been so insistent on meeting with him that evening.

“Alright, I will be there soon,” he said and the thrush bowed before flying away.

He entered his private receiving room on the second highest level of the keep not long later. The sun was setting and it stained the walls a deep orange. The visitor stood in the center of the room with the sun behind him so that at first all Bilbo saw was his outline. He was a tall, elderly man with long grey robes that were dirty from travel and fastened with a simply leather belt. A tall staff rested in one hand while a pointed blue hat sat atop his head and his bushy eyebrows. It took a moment for recognition to kick in, but there were very few people this figure could be mistaken for.

“Gandalf?”

The wizard beamed and opened his arms, stepping forwards. “Bilbo Baggins! It is good to see you! It has been quite some time.” He exclaimed and stepped closer, pausing when Bilbo did not reply. Bilbo remained where he was and the wizard’s smile slowly lessened. His hand hung in the air momentarily before closing and falling to his side. “Quite some time, yes,” he muttered with a small nod, almost more to himself than to Bilbo.

“I was told you had pressing business to discuss with me,” Bilbo said when the silence had drained on for too long.

“Yes,” Gandalf agreed and nodded again. “A most serious business. One, I think, that would best be discussed over tea.”

Bilbo may have been able to hide his annoyance through year of practice, but that didn’t mean he felt it any less. He nodded to a nearby attendant who quickly left to make tea for them. He forced aside his frustration instead and offered a seat to Gandalf by one of the windows. They sat in silence, Gandalf staring at Bilbo and Bilbo pointedly ignoring his gaze, choosing instead to watch the sun set over the rolling green hills below.

The tea arrived and they busied themselves with it and it wasn’t till Gandalf had a cup of tea and a plate of delicate cakes before him that he began to speak.

“I hear you have a guest, of sorts,” the wizard said blithely while adding sugar to his drink.

“Oh?” Bilbo watched the wizard over his own cup of steaming tea. He blew on it slightly to cool it though he kept his eyes on the wizard. “And where did you hear this?”

“Oh, out and about,” Gandalf replied, a small twinkle in his eyes. Bilbo frowned minutely. He supposed if there were anyone to know about Kili Durin hardly a day after he had been taken in for healing it would be Gandalf the Grey. It had been years since he’d see the wizard, but even from Bilbo’s youth he remembered Gandalf seemingly knowing the impossible.

“Yes, that is true,” Bilbo said, relenting.

“Well?” Gandalf raised one very bushy eyebrow. “And what exactly do you plan to do with him?”

“Why don’t you tell me? You seem to know just as much about it as I do,” Bilbo replied flatly.

“Not at all, not at all,” Gandalf replied, waving away the accusation as if it were nothing more than a wisp of smoke. Bilbo hesitated, but knowing Gandalf, the wizard already knew whatever answer Bilbo might give. If Gandalf knew of Kili Durin’s stay, then he knew what potential reasons there were for it.

“Kili Durin is currently our guest, healing from wounds. We are hoping that in return for this action, their king will meet with us for negotiations.” Bilbo said. Gandalf’s bushy eyebrows shot up.

“Is that so?” Gandalf replied over his cup of tea.

“Yes,” Bilbo said, annoyance rising. “We believe Kili Durin could be instrumental in discussions for our people’s future.”

Gandalf hummed and leaned back in his chair, inspecting Bilbo critically. Bilbo avoided his gaze. He remembered times from his childhood when Gandalf would not so much look at him, but rather _through_ him. As if somehow the wizard had access to all his thoughts and feelings. It was unnerving and Bilbo wished the wizard would refrain.

“I see,” Gandalf said cryptically.

“Gandalf, why are you really here?” Bilbo asked, sighing and placing a hand to his throbbing temple. He was tired and annoyed and not at all in the mood to deal with a wizard so late in the evening.

“To help, of course, as your friend.” Gandalf blinked at him kindly. He said it so simply, as if it were obvious.

“To help,” Bilbo replied flatly. He kept his expression blank, but inside his emotions were tumultuous. It felt like something had snapped at Gandalf’s arrival and it was all he could do to hold it together. And perhaps he could have, had it been another day, but he was worn from the arguing of the council and the worry over Kili Durin. So instead of keeping his anger to himself as he should have, it came out through biting words. “You haven’t been to visit for ten years and now you want to show up out of the blue and ‘help’.”

Gandalf blinked at him in surprise. He leaned back in his chair and opened his mouth only to shut it again. “I know it has been a while, but I’m sure you understand that I’ve been very busy.”

“Busy? So busy that you couldn’t afford to visit me once since my parent’s deaths? You left immediately after I was named king, the day after my parents died. And now you return, ten years later, acting as if nothing has changed. What was so pressing that had you leaving so quickly? And if we are truly friends as you claim, then why have you not visited before now?” He was so angry then, angry and hurt. Gandalf had been especially close with his mother, but after her death he had left and not returned. And then, all of a sudden, he came back, acting as if nothing had changed, like he had not abandoned Bilbo when he needed him most.

“Oh Bilbo…” Gandalf said, voice soft and tender. Bilbo averted his gaze. He did not want to hear excuses. He did not want to know what the wizard might say as reason for leaving his mother fresh in her grave without returning. “I never meant to leave you alone.”

Bilbo clung tightly to his cup and stared down at his tea. He did not have to listen to this. He could tell the wizard to go away, that he should have said these things years ago and that he was too late.

“There were things I needed to attend to as a matter of urgency after your parents deaths. I did not wish to leave you so soon and now I see that it was a mistake not to return earlier. I am sorry, my dear boy.”

Bilbo looked up and met Gandalf’s gaze. His blue eyes were bright and full of kindness. Bilbo felt his anger ebbing. It was difficult to stay angry with Gandalf when he clearly seemed affected. Bilbo nodded to him and set his cup down on the table, hands still clutching it tightly, but not to the extent of accidentally scraping it with talons. Gandalf reached across the table and placed a hand over his own. Bilbo stiffened slightly, unused to physical touch which was so uncommon amongst his kind, but he did not pull away.

“You mentioned you came here to help,” he said after a moment collecting himself. “What did you mean by that?”

“Allow me to help you with this task. You wish for peace between your people and the serpentine. I can help.”

“How?” Bilbo asked suspiciously. He had known years ago that Gandalf had some ties amongst their kind and it was true that the wizards had chosen not to claim a side in the war. It had always felt to them that Gandalf had preferred them and had been on their side in everything but true action. Yet there were times that Bilbo remembered that Gandalf had pledged no allegiance and that while he had always been friendly with the hobbits of the Shire, he had been mysterious about his other connections.

“I can convince them that you truly seek peace.”

“And you’re certain they will believe you?” Even if Gandalf was somehow close with the Durin’s, he doubted they would simply take his word for it, wizard or not.

“Yes!” Gandalf said, affronted.  

Bilbo did not reply, choosing the drink his tea instead. He could not deny to himself how alluring Gandalf’s offer was. Yes, he was still angry with the wizard. It still pained him that Gandalf had left him alone for so long. But Gandalf had been his mother’s friend and advisor. She had trusted in him. If she thought Gandalf was worthy of their trust, then Bilbo would follow her judgement.

“Then you may help,” he said, still uncertain, but his voice was steady. Gandalf smiled at him. It was not the same smile as he had worn when first greeting Bilbo. This one was a bit smaller, a bit more sad. The remembrance of his mother hung in the air between them, unspoken, but there nonetheless.

With Kili’s bead and Gandalf’s help, they might yet have a chance at convincing the serpentine of their honest desire for peace. Now they had to hope that the serpentine desired peace just as much. Kili had made it seem so, but the letter from their king had seemed nothing other than antagonistic. He would have to hope that his next letter would be enough to convince the king. It felt almost overwhelming, putting the fate of the war on the small hope that by actually meeting, they might be able to find a solution that did not end in spilled blood. He poured himself a fresh cup of tea to ease his nerves and he sat in silence with Gandalf, watching the last rays of sun sink beneath the hills. The night closed in around them heavy with memory and silent prayers.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about the incredibly long wait between chapters! I became very ill and it took quite a while to feel better. What with catching up on coursework and research I had little time/energy to write. There shouldn't be nearly as long a wait in the future, especially for chapter 5, though I don't suppose I'll ever be very fast. Hope you enjoyed chapter 4! I'd love to know y'all thoughts and any ideas you might have!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the amazing Emma2 for betaing :)

The morning of their meeting dawned warm and cloudless. Bilbo woke abruptly from his dreams and jolted upright, listening for what had woken him. But no, there were no unusual noises, nothing outside of the occasional hoot of an owl or the sound of staff puttering through the keep. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. The nerves that had kept him from sleep for late into the night had multiplied in force and settled like a rock lodged in his stomach. At least he could not remember his dreams this time. For that he was most thankful. There was enough to deal with in the daytime without the additional overhang of whatever sour memories his mind decided to dredge up.

It wasn’t long before sunrise, though the sky still appeared the same deep shade of inky blue as it would in the middle of night. There was no use in going back to sleep, not when his nerves were wound so tightly. He washed himself quickly, hoping that it would help to dissipate some of his nerves. It worked some, and he was able to dress himself afterwards without his hands shaking. The outfit had been set aside and pressed the night before – tan slacks and a dark green tunic with gold leaves embroidered on the sleeves and the slits on the back should he choose to wear his wings in demi form. It was light enough that he wouldn’t have issue with the intensity of the summer sun, but still formal enough for a meeting with royalty. The gold circlet decorated with leaves was the last item he wore before leaving his rooms. There were other crowns that had been worn in years before by the previous kings and queens, but he preferred the simplicity of this one. He looked fairly presentable. The hair on his feet was brushed and oiled, though the curls on his head were unruly, however he’d long discovered that was a losing battle. _Well, best hop to it_ a part of his mind said which sounded quite a lot like his father. He nodded once more at his reflection absently before heading down to the breakfast parlor.

Kili was already there, fully awake and pacing. His wounds had healed quickly and now he moved about with restless energy. He looked so much better than when Bilbo had first seen him on the battlefield even though his hair was still a mess and there were dark circles under his eyes. His weeklong stay had convinced much of the staff that he was too young to be a severe threat and he had been allowed to leave the healing ward with fewer guards in tow. The breakfast parlor was the first place of the Shire he had been allowed to visit outside of his healing ward, though he didn’t seem to be paying much attention to the room or the view outside.

“Good morning,” Bilbo said. Kili jumped slightly at his voice and twisted around to stare at him.  

“Uh, morning,” Kili said after a small pause. He dipped his head at Bilbo in greeting and gave him a small smile, but he still seemed as agitated as Bilbo felt.

“How are you?” Bilbo asked as he filled his plate with eggs and bacon. His stomach may have felt queasy from nerves, but he would hardly turn down food. He was a hobbit, after all, and besides that his stomach could hardly be full of nerves if it was full of breakfast instead.

“Fine, I’m fine, thank you.” Kili replied, fingers drumming at his side. He followed Bilbo a bit aimlessly as Bilbo filled his plate with food and then a mug of tea. They sat opposite each other at the small table though Kili merely picked at his food instead of eating it. Bilbo was nearly finished before Kili spoke again.

“I-“ Kili began, but cut himself off and cleared his throat before starting again. “I just wanted to mention something.” Kili paused and Bilbo motioned for him to continue. “My uncle, the king, well, he’s not exactly the easiest to talk to.” Kili looked at him worriedly from across the table.

“I had gathered that much,” Bilbo replied with a wry smile, setting down his fork. The few letters he’d had from the king had shown him to be demanding and more than a little irritable.

“Yeah,” Kili nodded. “I just wanted you to know that it might seem like he doesn’t like you, but he’s that way to just about everyone, so just don’t take it personally.”

“I will try not to,” Bilbo promised, though he couldn’t be certain how well he would succeed. It didn’t seem to bode well that the king’s own nephew seemed to find the king difficult to deal with. If it was true that he was difficult for his own people, Bilbo hated to imagine just how he would react to speaking with the person who had taken in his nephew without his permission.

He finished his breakfast quickly after that and they made their way to the entrance to the keep. Normally, Bilbo would simply fly down, but as Kili lacked wings a ladder was produced.

“Are you alright?” Bilbo asked. He couldn’t help noticing the unhealthy shade of green that had tinged Kili’s face.

“Oh, yes, I’m fine,” Kili waved off the concern, though his voice was slightly higher than normal. He was very determinedly not looking at the entrance or ladder. “It’s just, you know, dwarves and large heights don’t really go together that well.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said. He hadn’t really thought that the height might bother Kili. He was so used to it and to trusting his wings to catch him should he fall, that it had never given him pause. “We will have someone catch you, if you do fall.”

“Somehow that’s not very reassuring,” Kili said with a grimace, eyeing the guards flying by below warily. Bilbo had nothing to say to that. He couldn’t suggest one of his guard to fly Kili down. They had been willing to fly him to the healing ward on a stretcher, but now that Kili was healed he doubted that any would agree. They had great pride in their wings and rarely suffered to carry another unless it was prey or under dire circumstances. Kili for his part seemed steadied even though he’d said otherwise. His face was less green and there was a determined set to his jaw. He moved forwards to the ladder tensely, and held onto each beam with white knuckles.

It took a long time to reach the ground, even with Kili speeding up halfway down. They walked in silence for half an hour till they were out from under the protection of the trees and in the tall grasses that surrounded their lands. They would be meeting the king in one of the ground gardens near the borders of the Shire. The sky had already started to lighten and the ground felt warm beneath his feet. It felt strange to walk across the ground in this section of the Shire. As a rule the hobbits spent most of their lives in the in the trees. It was safer from attack, as well as the natural home of birds, but there were times that Bilbo missed being able to walk through the land below. There were still some hobbits who farmed in the rolling hills of Buckland, but most felt safer in the trees away from any possibility of attack. Instead, they had taken to creating gardens atop the roofs of their raised homes, but those could not replace the feeling of walking through the land, surrounded by life and beauty.

After several more minutes of walking they arrived in the designated garden where Gandalf was already waiting. The wizard sat relaxed in one of the chairs, pipe in hand and surrounded by a cloud of smoke that slowly changed color – from palest pink to robin’s egg blue to grass green and beyond. There had been no need to wake Gandalf, in all honesty Bilbo wasn’t sure he ever actually slept. Gandalf had returned to the Shire late the previous night, finalizing the plans for their meeting. The wizard had acted as their go between, alleviating each of their worries and reiterating that yes, the other side really was interested in peace. Bilbo was quite certain that this meeting wouldn’t have been possible without him. He was still nervous of course, but Gandalf had promised that all would come away unharmed from this meeting and a wizard’s promise was not something to be taken lightly.

Bilbo twitched slightly as a breeze fluttered through the clearing and the tall grasses on either side. The wind hissed against the dry grasses and he had to fight off his imagination of a serpent sitting hidden in waiting. He could feel his pulse thrumming nervously and his hands felt more than a little clammy. Their meeting that day would mark the first time since before the war that a serpent was invited to enter the Shire. That fact alone had him nervous as a fledgling before his first flight. He had, in fact, never actually seen the serpentine king face to face. There had been rare occasions where they had come near each other, but each time something went amiss and the opportunity slipped away. It was Bilbo’s duty as king to keep his people together during battle and he could not afford to seek out the serpent king when his commanders needed him present. That didn’t mean he hadn’t glimpsed the king fight. The king’s prowess in battle was legendary and well deserved. He fought with grace and seemed to dance across the field – fluid movements flowing from one pose to the next seamlessly. Bilbo had heard the tales of him; that the king’s unearthly blue gaze enchanted all who met it and caused his opponent to slit his own throat rather than fight. Bilbo shuddered at the idea. If there was ever a serpent who seemed to have been made from dark magic, it would be him.

The gate barring the entrance to the Shire slowly opened and Bilbo felt his breath catch in his chest. Kili stiffened beside him but otherwise there was no movement in the garden. The guards had been trained to be completely still and Gandalf stood relaxed with staff in hand. The guards at the gate would allow only the king to enter and he would not be allowed weapons, but even the idea of his presence was enough to his hands shake. The one serpent he had been taught to fear above all others was about to stand before him.

Bilbo focused on breathing steadily to calm his fluttering nerves and kept his gaze cool and steady. He would not allow his nerves to break through his reserve. _Keep your thoughts hidden, my child_ , his mother had said, _and they cannot be used against you_. She had always been excellent at keeping herself calm and poised in front of her people and only ever showing her true expressions to her husband or child. He would have to hope that he had gained enough of her reserve to protect him though the meeting.

The serpentine king flanked by a half dozen of Bilbo’s guard walked into view. The king was easily identifiable and for more than just the crown that sat atop his head. He walked with a sense of surety and power that spoke of self-assurance and strength. The king was tall, even for his own kind, and strikingly majestic with the same raven black hair and tall bearing as his nephew. Bilbo was almost shocked at their similarity of features, yet there was something off about the king. There was a sharpness of feature in the sharp line of his nose and the jut of his jaw that belied none of Kili’s openness or warmth. No, his face was cold and seemed as unlikely to yield as the mountain from which he hailed.

As the king approached Kili’s agitation grew. He was looking back and forth between Bilbo and his uncle. Bilbo caught his gaze and gave him a small nod. Kili looked back at his uncle, exhaled deeply, and stepped forwards to greet him. They stopped a few feet away from each other, Kili looking down at his feet.

“I’m sorry for running off like I did,” Kili said, his voice quiet and muffled. Bilbo could see the tension in his back, but Kili didn’t fidget or squirm under his king’s stern gaze. He held himself tall and kept his voice steady. “It was wrong and I will take any punishment you see fit.”

“Inudoy,” The king said, stepping forwards and placing his hands on Kili’s shoulders. His voice was a low baritone and far warmer than Bilbo had expected. “Now is not the time. What matters is that you are safe.”

Kili nodded, sniffing slightly, and gave a weak smile to his uncle. The king lightly squeezed Kili’s arms before stepping around him and turned his attention to Bilbo, meeting his gaze.

His heart nearly stuttered to a stop.

The ground must have disappeared beneath him, there was no other explanation for the overwhelming feeling of vertigo. Panic seized him and he fought to control his thundering heart. Instinct was screaming for him to flee, to fly to the sky and never look back, but his body was locked in place. He was trapped by that ice blue stare, unable to move.

“Uncle Thorin?” Kili’s voice sounded muffled, as though coming from a great distance. He walked between them, breaking the eye contact and shattering its effects.  

Bilbo wrenched his gaze away and stepped back, heart hammering so loudly surely all in the garden must hear it. He was breathing rapidly as if a vice about his lungs had just been released. _You fool Bilbo Baggins!_ Looking a cobra in the eyes! What madness had driven him to it? He knew the dangers of meeting a cobra’s gaze – the sticky end his kind would face. He should have known better. His only consolation was that it seemed he wasn’t the only one thrown by their meeting. The serpentine king had also stumbled back and seemed not to notice Kili hovering anxiously beside him. He felt winded and wanted to brace his hands on his knees to keep him steady, but he had already made one mistake in front of the king. He would not reveal any weakness before the serpents. The avian reserve would be his cover and he could feel it slipping in place making his face smooth and unreadable.

Gandalf chose that moment to step forwards, arms wide, and a curious glint in his eyes. “I believe introductions are in order,” he began, turning first to face Bilbo. “Bilbo I would like to introduced you to Thorin Oakenshield, the King of Erebor.” He then turned to face the two serpents. “Thorin, may I introduce Bilbo Baggins, King of the Shire.”

The serpent king seemed to have recovered from the first shock of their meeting and walked slowly forwards, staring at Bilbo with wide eyes as though he had never seen a hobbit before. Bilbo held himself tall under the scrutiny, but made sure to keep his gaze averted from the serpent’s. “ _You_ ,” the king began, his voice more hoarse than earlier and laced with derision. “You, are the hobbit?”

“That I am,” Bilbo replied coolly, raising his chin slightly and glaring in the king’s direction. He was fairly certain he understood the reason for the king’s response. Bilbo had more than once been told when he was crowned that he did not look the part of a king. He was the wrong height, the wrong build – the wrong everything. In time though, he had proven them wrong. He had shown his people that he was willing to do anything for them and they had slowly changed their tune. He would show that this king was also wrong to doubt him. “I was the one to discover Kili on the battlefield. It was on my orders that Kili was brought into the Shire for care and returned in health as he stands before you.”

“No, it cannot be true,” The king said so quietly Bilbo was not sure he had meant to speak aloud.  For a wild moment Bilbo wasn’t sure the king had actually heard him speak. He was staring at Bilbo as though hypnotized. Those unnerving, pale blue eyes were locked on him and it was all he could do not to flee. The king took a step backwards towards his nephew and shook his head slightly. He spoke again, this time louder and now glaring at Bilbo as if he had uttered foul lies. “I will not believe it.”

Bilbo felt the small flutter of hope that had somehow survived everything else until that point crumble and wither, leaving him hollow. He could not believe that the king would suddenly be so unwilling to believe the truth. The king had responded to his letter, had conversed with Gandalf, as if he understood the case. He had proven himself challenging, yes, but this was beyond anything Bilbo might have expected. Bilbo could not understand why he would change his mind save to perhaps accuse Bilbo of holding his nephew hostage. Well, if that was his choice, then the matter of peace had been decided long before they ever met.

“There are no lies here,” Gandalf said sharply, interrupting Bilbo’s further thoughts. The wizard was glaring at the serpent king. “If you choose not to believe Bilbo’s words then that is your own issue.”

“He’s telling the truth, uncle,” Kili began, but the king turned his back to him.

“I will speak with the wizard alone. Kili, stay close.” The king commanded, stalking back up the path without waiting for Gandalf to follow. Gandalf gave an exasperated sigh into his beard and Bilbo distinctly heard the wizard mutter about _the stubbornness of dwarves_ before walking after the king, smacking his staff in the ground as he went. Kili and Bilbo watched them walk away. He didn’t know how Gandalf could improve the situation; if the king had decided against negotiating then he saw little the wizard could do to change his mind. If Gandalf wanted to try then that was his prerogative, but Bilbo would not dwell on it. The king could stomp all the way back to his own country for all Bilbo cared. Kili came to stand beside Bilbo, scuffing the ground with his boots as he went.

“Are you alright?” Bilbo asked. He had believed Kili when he’d mentioned earlier that his uncle wasn’t the easiest to get along with, but this was something else entirely.

“I’m fine,” Kili replied, shrugging a shoulder. “He’s not usually this bad. The stress just gets to him sometimes.” They both looked over to see the king and Gandalf arguing, gesticulating in their direction. “And you?”

“I’m perfectly well,” Bilbo replied automatically.

“You know, it’s okay not to be. He’s intimidating enough to us, Fili and me I mean, and we’ve known him all our lives.”

Kili was gazing at him openly, his blue eyes so strangely different, so unusual compared to the golden browns of his own people. Yet they held none of the fire in the king’s. “Your eyes are so different,” he said, the words coming out before he could stop them.

“Ah,” Kili replied and nodded his head knowingly though Bilbo hadn’t hardly specified the issue. “The cobra gaze. Sorry about that. I know it’s disconcerting at first, but I’ve heard it gets better as you get used to it. I don’t have it yet, too young. Fili does a bit, but not nearly as much as our mother or uncle.”

“So it’s something you grow into?” He had a hard time imagining Kili with that fearsome stare – a stare so mesmerizing that the surrounding tales now seemed legitimate. He could not see Kili as so cold.

“Sort of,” Kili replied, “It’s difficult to explain.”

Bilbo barely had time to mull over what Kili had told him before the king and Gandalf returned. They walked quickly, Gandalf leading with a pleased air though there was still a remnant of his irritation in the way he whacked the ground with his staff. The king followed not quite dragging his feet but not far from it either. The brunt of his anger seemed to have dissipated and all that remained was the perpetual scowl. At least he wasn’t shouting accusations anymore. It was a small improvement.

“Why don’t we all sit down? There has been a lovely table set aside in the shade, with tea, I believe.” Gandalf proposed and began striding in that direction without waiting for a reply. Bilbo was glad to follow him. If it took a change of location and some food to get their meeting back on track then he was more than willing. It would have been preferable to remain standing where flight was easier, but there was little choice in the matter. Gandalf and Kili had already sat and he would have to follow suit as well. The king hesitated, eyeing the guards warily, before slowly sitting beside his nephew.

He was just stirring sugar into his tea when the king’s cold gaze returned to him. The feeling was immediate, a chilling tingle down his spine at knowing those unnatural eyes were watching him. He continued stirring his tea, careful to not alter his movements. If the king wanted to stare at him then that was his wish. He would not let show that it bothered him in the slightest. Gandalf had also prepared tea while Kili reached for a scone. The king touched nothing.

“Now,” Gandalf began, setting down his cup and peering sharply around the table. “We are here today to discuss the matter of peace between your two people. Have either of you thought of a way to do this?”

No one replied immediately. Bilbo took a careful sip of tea to cover his hesitation. The fact of the matter was that, while Bilbo had long wished for peace, actually making it a reality had never seemed possible. His people wanted peace as much as he did, but none of them could imagine a life of safety free from war. They would always be wary, always be on the lookout for the next attack. Gandalf had no difficulty in reading their silence correctly.

“So both of you wish for peace, but neither of you has thought of a way to reach it,” he said. “In that case my first suggestion is also the easiest: call a truce between your two people.”

“It isn’t quite that simple Gandalf,” Bilbo said. “Even if we could convince our people to a temporary truce, one outbreak and the war would start again. We need a more permanent solution.” That was if they could convince their people to lay down arms at all which was beyond unlikely. It would be foolish to set down arms when there was no reassurance the other side would do the same except for their word and the word of a serpent was worth near to nothing.

“That is true for us as well,” Thorin replied. “Many of our people would not feel safe unless they were fighting the avians.”

“I see,” Gandalf said. He hummed slightly and nodded to himself then looked sharply from one king to the other. “I do have an idea,” he began slowly and almost seemed to be judging them for their reaction.

“A relatively simple one at that, but it will not be easy. It will not work unless each of you is equally dedicated. It depends now, on what you would be willing to give up for peace.”

Bilbo looked across the garden and to the trees that housed their homes. The sun had fully risen by then and its warm light made the trees shine. It made his heart ache to see their homes from the ground; it was a view his people used to take for granted but now had little access to. Gandalf asked what they would be willing to give up for peace, but to Bilbo that was the wrong question. Anything that they might have been willing to give for peace, they had already lost to war. They had given up their homes in the ground and fled to the trees. They had lost their sense of safety, of ever feeling secure and peaceful as they had once been. Their loved ones had been taken from them and for a moment the image of those Bilbo missed most flashed in his mind – his mother and father, Primula and Drogo – gone now, forever. The war had taken their homes, their security, and their family. What would they give for peace that they had not already given in war?

“We would give anything,” Bilbo replied, his flat voice sounding oddly distant even to his own ears.

“Everything,” Thorin said, merely a breath after Bilbo. Gandalf leaned back from the table, satisfied with their responses.

“If you are as dedicated as each of you says you are, then perhaps this plan could work,” Gandalf said. There was a sharp glint in his eyes that Bilbo had only rarely seen before and an excitement evident in his tone that belied an energy far beyond his years. “Each of you claim that your people will not rest while the other exists. My plan is simple: a joining of the two countries. Set aside your hate for each other and unite your people.”

Bilbo was still holding the teacup in his hand, but he could no longer feel it. He felt strangely removed, as if he was watching the scene from outside his body. Both body and mind seemed to have not caught up with the implications of Gandalf’s words. Until they finally sunk in and the hot breeze could do nothing against the icy dread that filled him. It wasn’t possible though. Gandalf wouldn’t suggest that.

His fear was unnecessary.

“What exactly are you proposing?” The serpent king whispered though he may as well have shouted for how his words broke the complete silence.

“You say that each of your people will not have peace while the other exists. Remove the other from consideration; set two equal to one. Thorin take Bilbo as your consort and Bilbo take Thorin as your own. Show that each of you is willing to set aside your hate and your people will follow.”

A ringing silence followed those words. It filled his mind till there was nothing but a strange roaring like a storm at sea. It consumed him and he was as powerless as if a great wave were about to consume the earth in darkness.  

Breathe.

He needed to breathe.

His lungs felt trapped again, chest so constricted with panic black spots swam in his vision. He could feel his heart hammering its way out of his chest but the sound was lost in roaring of his mind. He could not have heard Gandalf correctly. Could not face this. A distant part of his mind noticed the shaking of his hands in his lap and the sheen of sweat now clinging to his forehead. His crown dug against his temples.

“How long have you planned this, Tharkun?” Thorin spat, seething. The serpent’s words cut through his panic and it was as if he’d been flung back to his own body. He was hyper-aware of everything – every bead of sweat on his neck, every panicked beat of his heart, and every breath that somehow never pulled in enough air was clear in his mind. The serpent was angry, oh he was so angry. Bilbo should have reacted. He should have flung himself away from the table at the sight of those bared fangs. Yet his body remained where it was. The panic had taken control of him and even the presence of an enraged serpent wasn’t enough to shake it.

“Since I have known,” Gandalf replied smoothly. Bilbo didn’t quite understand, but enough of it was clear. Gandalf had known of their desire for peace long ago. He had intentionally coerced this meeting to existence and he had prepared this plan long before Kili ever arrived in the Shire. It was true he had known the wizard to be eccentric, to have _wild_ ideas, but he could remember nothing of this magnitude. It had to be a joke. That was it. This had to be some strange wizard joke. An uncouth, rude one at that, but nothing more substantial. Just a joke.

He watched as the king stormed from the table and began pacing the garden. Kili watched his uncle’s stepped, face open with concern. He might have been afraid of seeing the serpent so enraged had not he also been equally irate. Instead his fear which had kept him locked in panic had now turned to useful anger and he turned his attention to the wizard, feeling stronger than he had in the entire time of their meeting.

“Gandalf,” Bilbo said, pleased to note that his voice did not waver but instead was strong and clear, “this cannot be your true thoughts.”

Gandalf raised an eyebrow. He had been watching the serpent king in his pacing but turned to face Bilbo properly when he spoke. It was irrational, but the kind, elderly face that had filled him with warm nostalgia at their first meeting in years now overwhelmed him with frustration. Who was this wizard, who had _deserted_ him for decades to now attempt to control one of the last pieces of his life that he had managed to save for his own wishes?

“And why is that?”

“Because it’s ridiculous!” Bilbo said, throwing up his hands. It was against all avian reserve, but his anger had broken some internal barrier and he now felt more than able to rail as he wished at the wizard, consequences be damned. And it felt _good_ . He was tired of reigning it in, tired of people telling him what to do, of never making one choice just for himself. “You saw how that _snake_ has treated me. He has disregarded everything I’ve said and has shown nothing but disgust for my people since the beginning. No peace could come from marrying _him_.”

Gandalf closed his eyes slowly and let out a pained sigh, but Bilbo had no attention for him. The king had rounded on him sharply from where he had been pacing and stalked toward Bilbo, towering above him. “You are hardly my first choice either, hobbit,” he snapped. His fierce eyes grazed what he could see of Bilbo and his lips curled in a sneer that hinted at hidden fangs. “A small, delicate bird? You are exactly the opposite of what any dwarf would want.”

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t care what you desire as a pair bond!” Bilbo spat in return. What did he care for this creature’s preference? Not a bit. And who was he to call Bilbo delicate! Bilbo had fought in this war all his life, he was no stranger to sword or spear, a far cry from _delicate_.

The king’s eyes widened and his lips thinned to a sharp line. Bilbo could hear the scraping of his nails against the stone table before the king shot backwards, away from him. Kili’s eyes flicked back and forth between them, but he made no move to speak. Bilbo could still feel the anger pulsing beneath his skin. What he needed was a chance away from the serpents, some time to wrap his mind around everything that had happened.

“Gandalf,” Bilbo said through gritted teeth, “can I talk to you for a moment? Privately.”

“Of course, Bilbo,” Gandalf replied. “If you will excuse us,” he said with a polite bow to Kili and the king’s back. He followed Bilbo to the opposite side of the garden far more serene than he had any right to be.

“What were you thinking?!” Bilbo began, in a harsh whisper. “Marry the king of the serpentine! You led me to believe you had an actual plan.”

“What I proposed is perfectly legitimate,” Gandalf said, frowning again. Bilbo bit his tongue to keep from swearing. He would not purposefully anger the wizard. It would do little good if Bilbo angered him enough that he turned him into something dreadful, like a frog.

“Gandalf, your idea is many things, legitimate, however, is not one of them.”

“May I remind you Bilbo, that you were perfectly willing to accept my help not a week ago? You seemed hardly concerned by the quality of my help then.”

“That was because I expected you to act rationally!” Bilbo said, his voice pitched unusually high.

“Hobbits and serpentine do not marry! It seems to have escaped your notice, but we’ve been at war for generations. Is this meeting alone not enough to prove that? We can hardly stand near another without causing offence. Marriage would be impossible.”

“Rationally!” Gandalf repeated, disgruntled. “I seem to be the only one capable of acting rationally! If that is you opinion then you have already made up your mind against any option for peace.”

“If I had thought peace impossible, Gandalf, I wouldn’t have called this meeting,” Bilbo snapped. “I simply ask for an idea that isn’t so outrageously outlandish.”

“There will be no easy way out of this war,” Gandalf countered. “You have already admitted that peace will be a great challenge. To achieve it, you will have to make sacrifices. You said earlier that you were willing to give anything for peace, do you take back your words?”

“Of course I don’t,” Bilbo sighed heavily and placed a hand to his temple. It was throbbing with the beginning of a painful headache. “But Gandalf, they are not like us. We can hardly be in the same room as one another, let alone consider them friend or family.”

“Which is exactly why you must marry him,” Gandalf countered. “If you lead by example and show that the dwarves are not so bad and that they are willing to live peacefully, then your people will follow.”

“How am I supposed to show that when I don’t even believe it myself?” He glared at Gandalf from beneath the shade of his hand.

“If you did not believe the dwarves capable of peace, then why did you call this meeting?”

Bilbo didn’t reply to that. He didn’t know what he truly believed. His hope for peace now seemed so naive, a childlike dream that somehow by meeting with the king they would arrive at an answer. Actually reaching an answer would require so much more than just hope. He let his hand fall with the effort of not touching the eye that had begun to twitch. He chose a different angle.

“And what about succession?” He brought up. “They’re not going to accept a serpent as the next heir, Gandalf. It’s just not going to happen."

“Oh? And what will they do instead?” Gandalf raised an eyebrow. “Accept Lobelia as their new leader?”

Bilbo turned away from Gandalf’s too knowing gaze. Curse the wizard and his knowledge. “They wouldn’t like it.”

“No, they won’t,” Gandalf agreed easily. “Which is why you must make them like it.”

“Make them?” Bilbo turned his full attention back to the wizard. The twitch in his eye was becoming worse with every minute. “Make them? Gandalf, I can’t make my people do anything. If anything, they are the ones making me even consider this!” It was because of them that he was forced to consider the idea. It was for them that he had invited the serpentine king to the Shire in the first place.

“Bilbo, they won’t like anything. They won’t like the idea of Fili and Kili as their new princes, but they also won’t like the idea of Lobelia controlling their country. Show them that you fully believe in Fili and Kili and that you think they could be excellent leaders of the Shire. Prove to your people that you are doing right by them and that this is the right way.”

“How am I supposed to prove that when I’m not even sure? I’ve never even met Fili. How can I just claim to know I’m doing right when there’s so much I don’t know?” He had thought that this topic, at least, Gandalf would see reason on. His people may be willing to make some concessions for peace, but they would not allow the future rule of their country to be from any but their own.

“Well, what else are you going to do? The time has come for you to make a decision: either go back to your traditions and your ways of war or embrace the unknown and the chance for the peace you’ve always dreamed of.”

Bilbo crossed his arms and looked away from Gandalf and instead at the two serpentine who were talking quietly on the other side of the garden. The king had his shoulders hunched and his arms crossed again while Kili was speaking to him. They looked so similar and yet so different. Kili’s features were open, his movements unguarded. The king seemed like carven stone – regal and strong. Unyielding.

“You’ve changed, Bilbo Baggins, and not entirely for the better,” Gandalf said, breaking him from his thoughts. “I remember a young hobbit who used to love the idea of adventures and coming back the hero who ended the war. What happened to him?”

“He grew up,” Bilbo replied wearily. He was exhausted from the stress of the day and wanted nothing more than to escape to the garden above Bag End. He wanted to go back to the days that Gandalf reminded him of, when it had been his father’s garden and Bilbo who had watched his father. Those days felt so far away. They had been when he’d had his parents and the world had still been kind. But then they and so much more had been taken from him and he’d been forced too early to the position of king. “If you’d been around, you might have seen it happen.”

Gandalf looked suitably chastened for a moment, but he rallied quickly. “Well then, if your concern has to do with the princes, then I see no better idea then for you to meet them yourself. You’ve already met Kili here and I can assure you that Fili will meet all of your desires. A trip to Erebor will surely give you enough time to decide-”

“I will not go to Erebor.”

“Bilbo,” Gandalf began, but Bilbo raised a hand to silence him. He knew the wizard was going to try to talk him into the idea more, but he’d had enough. Gandalf may be a wizard, and he may have once been his mother’s advisor, but he had long since lost that position when he failed to visit the Shire.

“No Gandalf,” Bilbo said sternly. “I cannot go flying off into the blue. I am a Baggins of Bag End. It is my duty as king to remain here with my people.”

“And what of your duty to protect your people? This war will not wait for you to be ready.”

“It isn’t a matter of being ready.” Bilbo snapped, anger flaring again. “I wasn’t ready to watch my family and friends die. I wasn’t ready to be crowned king and forced to decisions like these. Yet here I am.” Bilbo shook his head and forced himself calm. “I’m sorry Gandalf, but you ask too much of me.”

Gandalf was the one to sigh this time, and it was heavy with the weight of his many long years. Bilbo could not bear to look the wizard in the eyes at the moment and instead focused his attention on the nearest rose bush. It had grown wild without care, but to Bilbo it was a mark of freedom. It could be a hardy plant when it wanted, it’s blooms safely guarded by thorns. Bilbo traced a hand over the delicate petals as Gandalf walked away from him, back to their guests. “And what of you, Thorin? Will you too refuse to consider my plan for peace?”

Bilbo froze still, knowing that to turn would risk meeting the king’s gaze. He could feel that cold stare bearing down on him, the weight of it pressing against him. A sharp pain shot through his hand and he unclenched it to find fresh blood. He’d held the thorns too tightly. He held still, waiting for the king’s response.

“If he will not have me, then why do you think I would have him?”

Bilbo did not turn or reply. He watched as a drop of blood fell from his hand onto the petals.

“The stubbornness of dwarves and hobbits!” Gandalf shouted, exasperation thick in his tone. “You are more similar than either of you is willing to believe. You call a meeting to discuss peace only to refuse to discuss it!”

None of them replied. Bilbo remained still and he heard no sounds of movement from the other members of the garden.

“Now,” Gandalf continued, glaring at Thorin’s back. “Thorin, I ask again, will you consider the plan?”

“Your friend has already listed reasons against it. I see no reason to persuade him otherwise.” The king’s words came quickly and dripping with bitterness. Against his better judgement Bilbo found himself turning to look at him. He watched as Gandalf drew closer to the serpent king who was half faced away from them. He appeared almost hesitant and seemed to think his words carefully before speaking.

“Thorin, this may be your only chance,” Gandalf said his voice low. “Give up now, and you will lose all you might have gained.”

Thorin twisted around sharply to glare at the wizard, his eyes wide and lips slightly parted. He snapped his jaw shut and began pacing again. It looked like he was fighting two different emotions, but what they were Bilbo couldn’t tell. After a moment of pacing he paused and looked at Bilbo then back to his nephew. He exhaled shakily before speaking.  

“As you wish, Gandalf. I will consider it.”

Gandalf turned in triumph to Bilbo, but he was too shocked to even be annoyed at the wizard’s gloat. Why in the name of the heavens had the king agreed to it? The idea was ludicrous. There was no other way to put it. Gandalf’s smile faded as he realized Bilbo was not about to agree.

“Why don’t each of you consider it?” The wizard proposed quickly before Bilbo could speak. He clapped his hands together and was much more animated than he had been a moment prior. “Think on it for a fortnight and if, by the end, you do not agree to this plan or find another, then you may return back to your war.”

They slowly nodded their agreement. It wasn’t much. Not a long term plan for peace, but a temporary truce was not something to be slighted. Relief filled him, allowing Bilbo to breathe for what felt like the first time in ages. As long as the serpents kept to their word, they would have two full weeks of peace. The meeting was finally coming to an end though it wasn’t quite there yet. The king walked forwards, careful to still keep enough distance between him and Bilbo so that the guard didn’t attack. He was looking at Bilbo, but Bilbo kept his gaze slightly averted, firmly on the braids of the king’s beard.

“If you do wish to meet,” He began, voice carefully neutral, “then know that you may come to Erebor at any time. You have my word that you will not be harmed.” Bilbo nodded, his throat too tight to speak. The king stayed facing him, inspecting him almost, and his eyes dashed across Bilbo’s face for some sign of response.

“I will consider it,” Bilbo managed, his voice soft but still firm. It seemed answer enough for the king and he turned his attention to his nephew who had stepped forwards.

Kili stepped closer, head held tall and arms steady at his side. Bilbo was reminded for the first time that the young boy he had met was also a prince. Kili gave a small but graceful bow before saying his goodbye. “You saved my life, your Highness,” he began. “If you come to Erebor, I would gladly call you my honored guest.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo replied. “You offered me friendship not long ago. I would like to extend the same offer. You may come to the Shire again and you will not be harmed.” Against all odds he had started to enjoy the company of the young prince who offered friendship. Maybe in time he would be the one to find the route to peace.

Gandalf came next, a satchel in hand that Bilbo had not noticed earlier. He clasped hands with Bilbo’s, the wizard’s large hands so much rougher than his own.

“Are you leaving also?” Bilbo asked him. He had somehow assumed Gandalf would stay in the Shire after the meeting, but the wizard had never explicitly said so.

“Yes, I’m afraid I must escort Thorin and young Kili. I had hoped-“ he began, but cut himself off with a small smile. “Well, it was good to see you again, Bilbo. You are more like your parents than even you can see. Good luck.” And with another mysterious smile and nod of his head he was off.

Bilbo remained where he stood and watched their retreating profiles – watched their chance at peace diminishing amongst the tall grasses. Gandalf wasn’t right though. Bilbo felt nothing like his own parents who had been brave and willing to do anything for their people. Bilbo couldn’t be brave like them. He didn’t have it in him to follow along with Gandalf’s plan. It made his chest ache fiercely to know that he had somehow lost the spark that had made his parents wonderful. Somehow, he couldn’t find it. Or, perhaps, he never had it at all. He stood there long after they had disappeared past the gate, fighting off the overwhelming sense of loss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! And thank you to everyone for the well wishes. :)


	6. Chapter 6

Thorin drank deeply from his tankard, savoring the bitter taste. The inn was packed with occupants, more than half of which were obviously drunk. The same number continued their dancing glances over his company pretending that they were not at all interested in the dwarves. He scoffed. Of course they would be interested. It was hardly a day’s ride from the Shire, not a place his people to willingly loiter. His muscles had attested to it’s being a hard days’ worth of riding for them to reach this far, though he had hoped to go further. However the setting sun and Gandalf’s insistence had kept them from moving further.

He glared at several of the men casting him curious glances and gained a measure of satisfaction at how quickly they turned from his stare. When sure they weren’t about to return their glances he instead turned his glare to the wizard. Gandalf hadn’t moved for nigh on an hour, still standing behind the bar in close discussion with the barman and his wife. He’d considered eavesdropping, but the wizard had an annoying ability to know when Thorin was lingering about him. There was no explanation for how the three had discussed the weather for the last hour and a half.

“I’d say your face would get stuck like that if you kept glarin’, but I know it already has.”

“Shut up,” Thorin muttered to Dwalin, choosing another swig of ale rather than looking at him.

“Suit yer self,” Dwalin said with a shrug and returned to the last of his meal. Thorin finally tore his gaze from the wizard to look at his close friend. If the men of the town weren’t staring at him they were instead staring in awe and fear at Dwalin. The tattoos across his skin as well as the gleaming axes within easy reach marked his as likely the most interesting character this bar had seen.

“I want to know what the wizard is saying,” he admitted after a beat.

“That much is obvious.”

Thorin groaned and refused the urge to bang his mug on the table. They already had enough attention, it wouldn’t do to add more. Even with keeping their clothing simple and staying discrete they had drawn more attention than he would have liked. He leaned forwards to speak to Dwalin, eyes still on the wizard. “What could a barkeep have to say that would keep him for over an hour?” He hissed to Dwalin. “And what secrets of ours is he giving away?”

“Ain’t no telling. But there’s nothing we can do to stop him.” Dwalin shook his head. “I’d wager your concern was better spent elsewhere.” Dwalin gave a pointed glance down the table and Thorin followed his gaze.

Kili was sitting several seats away, staring into his mostly empty mug. He hadn’t said much since the meeting, though they had all spoken relatively little as they hurried out of the Shire. After Kili’s insistence that he was fine and needed no immediate medical attention, they had mounted and rode back almost as quickly as they had come. Many of their company had begun speaking of the journey excitedly as soon as dismounting. While none had been present for the negotiations, reaching the borders of the Shire and seeing several of their guard had been more than enough to raise a few stories. Kili, however, had not joined in. His nephew had claimed to be fine, but he couldn’t stop himself for searching for any sign of injury.

“Glaring at him won’t help either.”

Thorin fumed silently at Dwalin who had long years ago become all but immune to Thorin’s moods. Instead of shrinking away like most would, Dwalin turned pensive and leaned in. Thorin knew what Dwalin was about to ask next and his gut twisted.

“Thorin, what did happen in there?” Dwalin asked, voice hushed.

Thorin’s jaw clenched. He’d been able to avoid the questions earlier when haste had been necessary, but as time passed he could feel the weight of Dwalin’s eyes and knew he would have to face the questions soon. Instead of answering, he stared at the empty contents of his mug. He’d tried to think of reasons for not telling him or excuses to delay, but each sounded as flimsy as the next. Eventually he found his voice, though it was rougher around the edges than earlier.

“I will tell you soon, but now is not the time.”

“Thorin,” Dwalin demanded, “I know it probably went like hell, but you’ve got to tell us. How’re we supposed to plan without it? You know we won’t judge. Unless you hit him in the face. Then I’d-“

“No one hit each other in the face, though if you keep talking that might change” Thorin growled. He heaved a sigh and weighed the need for drink against the last dregs of warm ale in his mug. He set the tankard down. “I promise I will tell you everything when we arrive in Erebor” he said, meeting Dwalin’s pale blue eyes.

Dwalin huffed a sigh of annoyance, but Thorin could tell that he’d won this round.

“Stubborn arse.”

“Bald-headed git,” Thorin retorted hiding a smile.

Their company departed from the table soon after, Kili led off to his rooms by the healer for inspection and guarded by three dwarves. They had done their best to remove any signs of who they were. There wasn’t a way for them to hide their guards, but at least they weren’t recognizable as royal.

“He will be fine soon, do not worry.”

Thorin tensed visibly as Gandalf’s voice came from behind him. He had so far managed to avoid the wizard, giving him nothing more than a brief nod or grunt. That was not about to change soon. He stalked away from the wizard, his feet heavy as he climbed the stairs. Dwalin soon caught up with him but didn’t comment on Thorin’s attitude toward the wizard. They reached Kili’s room and after a short nod to Dwalin who took place guarding the doorway Thorin entered.

The room was small with simple but decently made furniture. Kili was standing beside the wash basin, his tunic and undershirt lying on the bed. With his bare back to him Thorin could see the lines marring his pale skin. There were far fewer scars than on Thorin’s own body, but still each mark taunted him. Kili was his blood and as a prince he represented hope for his people. It was Thorin’s duty to protect him. And he had failed.

The healer eventually finished his inspection and allowed Kili to replace his clothes before speaking with Thorin. “He has suffered some injury, but has healed remarkably well, Your Majesty,” the healer said, now packing his supplies. “I can recommend a few salves to reduce the chance of scarring if you wish, but otherwise he is in good shape.”

“Thank you,” Thorin replied.

The healer bowed his respect and left the room, shutting the door behind him quietly. Kili had pulled his shirt back on and was facing Thorin though he was staring at his boots rather than his face. It struck him again just how young Kili was. This was the same face full of guilt and remorse that Thorin had faced after almost all of Kili’s antics.

I’m sorry,” Kili whispered so quietly he barely caught the words. He could see face through the strands of hair hiding Kili’s face to his expression of wretched guilt. Kili shuddered a breath then lifted his head up, keeping his eyes downcast. “It was wrong of me to leave without permission. I endangered yourself and other soldiers and have wreaked havoc to your plans. Whatever punishment you see fit will be accepted without complaint.”

Kili stood still, awaiting his punishment with shoulders back and left hand clasping right wrist – a soldiers pose. Thorin paused for a moment, not knowing how to react. Kili needed to be disciplined. He had to be made aware that his actions were inexcusable and that there were consequences. But at the same time all he wanted to do was to hold him close and say how glad he was that his nephew was alive.

“It is more than just that,” Thorin replied, sighing. “As prince it is your duty to do what your people require, even if you would prefer a different task. You and your brother are our hope for future generations. You must learn the responsibility that comes with your positions.” Kili’s eyes flickered and he nodded his understanding. Thorin stepped forwards and gently placed his hands on Kili’s shoulders. Kili finally looked up at him, his eyes lined with silver. “As your uncle,” he said, his voice softer, “it is my responsibility to keep you safe. Can you understand how it felt to know that I’d failed?” Kili nodded, swallowing thickly. Thorin took the opportunity to pull him closer and they stood like that for a minute with heads gently pressed together. “I cannot say how glad I am to find you unharmed,” he said before stepping back to give his nephew some space. “Now, I would like you to tell me all that has happened.”

Kili told his story of how he’d been jealous of his brother’s involvement in the war and how he’d managed to sneak into a group of archers. He’d kept his helmet on and face down to keep from getting recognized and had saved several dwarves in the first half of the battle with well-aimed arrows. But then he had been separated from the other archers and was on his own. He’d panicked. Training had never prepared him for the sights and sounds of war. Escaping to the trees had helped somewhat, but a quick blade had left him bleeding and in pain. He’d climbed the nearest tree and kept a low profile till he fainted from either pain or blood loss and fallen out of the tree. Thorin could barely control himself as Kili spoke. If only he had been there. If only he had stopped him. Then Kili never would have been harmed.

Kili continued his story of how the avian king had found him and offered him sanctuary. He spoke of how the king had visited and conversed with him as an equal. Thorin could hardly believe it. The avian Kili spoke of was nothing like the one Thorin had met that morning. The open kindness that Kili had met with had vanished in Thorin’s presence. Kili fell silent, his story finished.

“Thank you for telling me this,” Thorin said, his voice gruff from the emotional turmoil of Kili’s story.

“He’s not bad, you know,” Kili said. “I know you two didn’t get along, but if there’s really a chance for peace, surely it’s worth a shot?”

Thorin didn’t reply. He wasn’t sure how Kili’s story changed things and he didn’t have the energy to explain the true intricacies of the day. “It is late,” he said instead. “Try to get some rest.” He reached out and clasped Kili’s shoulder once more before leaving the room quietly. He made it back to his own room but rest evaded him as visions of golden talons and sharp intelligent eyes permeated his thoughts.

* * *

 It was well past midnight when they reached Erebor. The unclouded sky light their path while a much needed breeze cooled the summer heat. Thorin felt some of the weight that had settled like coal in his gut finally release as they approached the mountain. Kili was safe. They had succeeded in bringing back his nephew to their home and he would never stop thanking Mahal for that blessing. While the previous days of travel had been tiring, the last few hours held their attention and kept them wide awake even at the late hour. They were almost home and the chance to rest and recover finally awaited them. They had chosen a less worn path around Dale rather than continuing on the great road which ran through the city. It took slightly more time, but it was worth it to avoid being stopped by inquiries. There would be time later to inform their friends in Dale that the prince was returned home.

There were fires in the braziers encircling the entrance to the mountain, making it seem like the stone guardians were alive. They trekked forwards without speaking, each as eager and worn as the next. They had all worked tirelessly, but Thorin’s misgivings about pushing his company the long hours that day had been removed by the determined gaze of his dwarves. They could see several figures standing by the gate, though they appeared as little more than shadows from their distance. They slowly came into view and when his company passed by the markers to the borders of Erebor, there was a shout.

“It’s them! They’re back!” Fili’s voice was distinguishable even from the distance. He came bounding forwards and Kili shouted in answer, urging his horse to speed. Kili dismounted in a tumble of limbs and was immediately tackled to the ground by his brother under a deluge of attacks.

“Oi!” Kili shouted in outrage, dodging another blow and clutching his arm. “Fi! What the hell was that for?”

“That was for-“ Fili made another swipe at his brother “-getting your sorry arse-“ another kick “-Mahal knows where-“

“I’m sorry!” Kili shouted back, hands up in surrender as he attempted to scoot across the ground away from his brother. “I’m sorry, okay!”

“You’d better be!” Fili replied, still stalking forwards but no longer trying to hit him. “We’ve been worried sick about you. Do you have any idea what it’s been like here? Just waiting around, hoping you’ll come back.”

“I’m sorry,” Kili repeated, not backing away anymore. “I know I was dumb and an idiot.”

Fili glared down at him. “You forgot stupid, too.”

“Yeah, alright,” Kili admitted, “a bit stupid too.”

Fili held his anger for a moment more, but then a crooked smile broke his facade. He pulled his brother up from the ground and yanked him into a hug so tight he could likely barely breathe. By that time Thorin and the others had arrived and dismounted, they had pulled apart somewhat, heads rested against each other.

“Promise you won’t do anything like that again,” Fili said.

“Promise,” Kili replied, giving his brother a small smile.

“You had better keep that promise,” came another voice from behind Fili. “Else it won’t be only your brother giving you a beating.”

“Mum,” Kili separated from Fili only enough to throw his arms around his mother. They embraced tightly and Thorin came to stand beside his elder nephew and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“How are you?” he asked. He could see circles of exhaustion lining Fili’s eyes and doubted he’d slept much at all in the last days.

“Better now,” Fili replied with a shrug and quirk of his lips. “And you, Uncle?”

“Better,” he repeated with a nod.

“I’m sorry,” Kili said as he separated from his mother. “I know I was dumb and I promise I won’t do anything like that again.” He hung his in dejection and missed the warm look his mother sent him as her fear melted away.

“You’re still grounded for the next three months. I’m sure Chef Mayim will be glad for another set of hands in the kitchens. And I’ll see if Fezik needs any help in the stables.”

“Yes mum,” Kili nodded.

“Come on,” she said linking an arm with her son’s, “let’s get inside.”

They followed Dis and Kili through the main gates. Thorin quickly dispatched most of his company with a word of thanks. Only Dwalin and Gandalf stayed with them as they passed into the palace and to their family dining chamber where heaps of steaming food were already awaiting them. None of them had eaten much in their worry about Kili and now that he was back – now that he was safe and they no longer needed to plan for the worst – they could finally afford to relax.

“So, what happened?” Fili asked, leaning towards his brother the better to hear. “I mean, all I’ve seen was the letter.”

“And don’t think of leaving anything out,” Dis ordered. “I’ll know.”

“Hm ngh gnn t!” Kili grunted through a mouthful of food. He swallowed quickly causing his eyes to water. “Uh, where do you want me to start?”

“How about when the King of the Shire found you wounded on a battlefield where you had no place to be?” Dis asked, her eyes flashing.

Kili nodded, looking back down at his plate though no longer touching it. “I guess I just felt so frustrated and pent up – I wanted to do _something_ , prove that I can be useful. And I know that’s not – it’s not a good excuse. It’s just, people are dying and what am I doing to help?” He looked up at them, his young face full of sadness and Thorin felt his heart clench at the sight.

“You are helping Kili,” Dis said softly and reached across the table to hold Kili’s hand.

“Not enough,” Kili returned, though he didn’t pull away from his mother’s touch. “I just want to feel like I’m making a difference. I know what I’m learning will be useful, but it’s hard when I see my friends head off to fight and I stay here.” They were silent for a moment after that. Thorin could understand where he was coming from. Kili as the youngest of their family had faced the most of their combined protective tendencies. Fili was next in line after Dis and however much they might have wished otherwise, they could not keep his potential duties from him. But Kili – little Kili who had always been quick to laugh – he they could protect. And so while Fili had been sent to countless training sessions, Kili had been given other tasks. They had known they couldn’t protect Kili forever, but they had been unwilling to realize how much he’d grown. He was nearly an adult now, and however much they might wish to keep him safe inside, if he wished to participate more, then Thorin believe he had a right to do so.

“If you wish,” Thorin said hesitantly, glancing first at Dis, “you are welcome to join us at the council meetings.”

Kili stared at him, mouth slightly agape. “Really?”

Thorin nodded. “Fili was not much older than you when he began, and it seems it would do you well.”

“I – yes. Thank you, Uncle.” Kili stuttered. Thorin smiled at him.

They finished their meal soon after. Thorin lingered over his plate, but he couldn’t the mounting dread of the conversation that would surely happen next. Fili and Kili excused themselves to their rooms – Thorin heard Fili immediately barrage Kili with questions on _what really happened_ before the doors were even closing – and the rest retired to the sitting room. Balin arrived not long after them, choosing to stand by his brother. He had apparently been required elsewhere when they had arrived, but was determined to greet them as soon as he could. Thorin busied himself with a drink instead of immediately speaking, though he could feel Dis’s gaze boring into his back. He could postpone this conversation no longer. The knot in his stomach coiled painfully.

“Well?” She asked with barely concealed impatience as Thorin sat down. “What happened?”

Thorin flicked a glance at Gandalf silently ordering him to not say a word. “I met with their king. We have agreed to a temporary ceasefire.”

The silence that greeted this statement was thick as treacle. He could see the shock written clearly on each of their faces. Balin even leaned heavily on his brother. Their shock was well warranted. In all the years of war there had never been so much as a few days of agreed upon respite. Yes, the war waned greater or lesser during the years like the tide, but they had never before been certain of no attack.

“Truly?” Dis asked, her voice quiet in amazement.

Thorin nodded. “We have two weeks of guaranteed peace.”

“How?” Dis asked. “We’ve tried for centuries to form a truce. How did you accomplish it?”

“You will find that you are not the only people who tire of war and death,” Gandalf said, lighting his pipe. “The people of the Shire want peace as much as your own kind. All that was necessary was a little encouragement.”

“Thank you, Gandalf, for all your efforts” Dis said, walking over to him and placing a hand on his arm. “We are indebted to you. You have helped return my son and have brought the first break in this war. We are beyond grateful.”

“Grateful?” Gandalf huffed darkly. He shot her a fierce glare which reflected the light of his pipe so his eyes shown unnaturally bright. Thorin knew how the conversation was about to turn, but he was frozen in place, unable to speak if he tried. “Do not thank me. If not for incorrigible stubbornness we would be announcing and end to the war entirely. Not some wispy ceasefire.”

“What?” Dis asked, her voice barely audible. But Gandalf seemed determined to force Thorin to explain the entire business himself, likely out of punishment for his initial refusal. He ground his teeth in fury. Trust a wizard to help and instead he goes about with nonsense ideas and then refuses to take the blame for them. “Thorin,” Dis turned to look at him, “what is he talking about?”

Thorin heaved a shaky breath before replying. “Gandalf was under the false impression that he had found a plan for peace. He was mistaken.”

“It was not a mistake,” Gandalf retorted hotly.

“Mahal’s forge, Thorin! Did you honestly refuse a chance at peace? How could you do this – no, don’t you turn your back on me when I’m talking to you!” He had stood forcefully and turned to face away from them, vibrating with the power of too many emotions to count. “You stubborn arse. If only – “

“ _It wasn’t me_ ,” he ground out. He teeth felt like they’d been welded together and he forced them to open. He could feel his heart hammering uncomfortably fast and he clenched his sweaty hands to fists. “It wasn’t me who refused.”

Dis fell silent at that. Instead it was Dwalin who stepped forwards and placed a tentative hand on Thorin’s shoulder. “Look,” Dwalin said, “I know you’ve been off ever since that meeting. But it’s us here. You’ve got to tell us what’s going on.”

“What’s going on is that generations of prejudice have made it nearly impossible to achieve peace.” Gandalf spoke with less ire than before. If anything he sounded worn, as tired with the war as if he personally had fought every battle since the beginning. “I proposed the only solution with the potential to work: a joining of two houses, as you might say. The hate that has fed the fires of this war will not be put out lightly. There must be a complete reconciliation between your people for peace to be possible. A union between Thorin and Bilbo would ensure that outcome.”

Thorin held his breathe, waiting for their response. Now the truth was beginning to come out. Soon they would know all and it would be theirs to judge. He was acutely aware of everything at that moment – the fierce beating of his pulse and the sounds of his companions breathing.

And then the dam burst.

They were all shouting at Gandalf. Dis and Dwalin vying for loudest, but Thorin could just as easily hear Balin both shouting his own frustration and trying to talk sense into his brother and princess. He shut his eyes, trying to block out everything, but it only allowed another voice into his mind to ridicule the proposal.

_“Because it’s ridiculous!”_

_The avian king had turned on the wizard and for once there was the fierce glint of emotion – burning anger - showing through his marble facade._

_“You saw how that snake has treated me. He has disregarded everything I’ve said and has shown nothing but disgust for my people since the beginning. No peace could come from marrying him.”_

The pain of those words clawed through him as if the king had raked across his chest with those hidden talons. He could still hear all those horrible words now intermingled with those of his family and friends. It was too much. It was all too much.

“ENOUGH.”

His voice echoed in the now silent room. He turned to face them and saw all their concern etched on their faces. “That is enough.” He exhaled a shaky breath. "What's done is done. As it stands it matters little anyhow. I have been refused."

"You mean to say, then, that you would have agreed?" Balin asked.

 Thorin’s hesitation was barely perceptible before he replied. "Yes, I would have." 

 "Shiza Thorin!" Dis snarled. "How could you do this? What do you expect? You think your people will believe that this creature is your One? They won’t do it.”

 “They will have to,” he growled in reply.

 “Why? Because you had some stupid bird-brained scheme to end this war that probably won’t even work? And what of your One, Thorin. You have the longing, I know you do. How could you do this to you One? You’re abandoning them.”

 “Dis is right,” Dwalin said before Thorin could reply. “We’ve all had to make sacrifices, but this is going too far.”

 "I knew what I was doing when I accepted Gandalf's terms. I have not given up." He ground the words out of clenched teeth, his hands fisted so tightly they’d gone white. He paced away from them. The threat of the words he must soon speak loomed over him – suffocating him. 

 "Oh, so in your mind, marrying someone who isn’t your one isn’t betraying them. Do explain that, dear brother.” She snapped back.

 “Because I won’t be marrying someone else.” He shouted back, but they didn’t understand yet. Their faces hadn’t yet changed in horror of the truth. He would have to come clean. There was nothing for it. They deserved to know the whole truth.

 “It won’t be betrayal,” he said, the words as painful to speak as pulling venom from a wound, “because Bilbo Baggins is my One.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the amazing comments y'all!! You've really blown me away! Reading those comments really keeps this fic going so thanks so much! Hope you like this one! :)

_ “I wish for you peace, my child, my child, and tree tops for you to soar past. I wish for you peace, my child, my child, that war may be long in the past…”*  _

_ Drogo’s voice came softly through the halls, voice lilting as he sang the lullaby to Frodo who was hardly more than a bundle of blankets. Primula watched him with eyes gleaming full of happiness.  _

_ Bilbo knew he was dreaming. It had been years since either had been alive and he had long since grown used to the wakeful dreams which had plagued his sleep since childhood. He couldn’t regret them though, not when they occasionally brought visions of those he longed for.  _

_ Primula turned towards him, face aglow and features softened by the warm candlelight. He saw so much in her – love, comfort – everything he craved. He wanted to tell her how much he missed her, how confused and alone he sometimes felt, but the words would not come. They sat there without speaking instead, listening to Drogo sing and committing to memory the room and occupants. He remembered how the light would turn her honey brown hair to spun gold and the small scar on her chin from when she had tried to fly as little more than a nestling and fallen.  _

_ “I don’t know what to do,” he whispered to her image. He felt lost and confused and his heart ached for how much he wished they really were there. Prim smiled at him and reached across the small table to take his hand. Her hands were warm and smelled of sunflowers.  _

_ “You are so brave, Bilbo,” she said, squeezing his hand lightly. “When the time is right, you will know what to do.”  _

_ He squeezed her hand back and gave her a small smile. It wasn’t really an answer, but she was a dream, he couldn’t expect her to solve his problems. For now it was enough to simply sit and feel comfortable and at home.  _

_ The dream shifted.  _

_ He was on the battlefield, empty of life and soundless even with a breeze. A voice cried out in pain and Bilbo was overcome by déjà vu even as he raced forwards. But this time instead of the young serpentine prince, it was Frodo. His pale face twisted in pain and more blood than could possibly come from his tiny frame encased his stomach and the ground below.  _

_ “No, oh no,” the words left him before he could control himself and they shook as much as his hands. It was a dream, just a dream. Bilbo clenched his eyes shut, blocking out everything. When he opened them Frodo was gone and in his place stood Thorin Oakenshield, bright blue eyes blazing and fierce. Do not meet their gaze, they will hypnotize you and you will slit your own throat before you know it. He tried to look away, but he was frozen stiff as stone.  _

_ Thorin stepped forwards and held out his hand – waiting. Bilbo tried to shake his head, but he could not move. He was captured in place, kneeling beside where Frodo’s body had lain. But as he stared into those strange blue eyes he felts a shift within himself. The fear and terror subsided and were replaced with strength and surety. He stood up then as if he had never been bound and looked down at Thorin’s offered hand. And, without hesitation, took it.  _

* * *

Bilbo itched to adjust the circlet where it was digging into his temple, but forced his hands to remain neatly folded in his lap. It was always the right temple that hurt when he wore the circlet for too long. A cheer rose in the crowd as the young soldiers performed their movements in perfect time and Bilbo clapped politely and took advantage of the chance to adjust the circlet. The induction ceremony into the Royal Flight was a large affair – both a chance to demonstrate skill and an opportunity for celebration. Bilbo sat at the front of the crowd of onlookers while the rest of the Royal Flight stood in formation behind their newest members. Fortinbras Took, Captain of the Royal Flight, stood nearly a head taller than the rest and Bilbo could see how proud he was even from opposite ends of the room. The newest recruits – Gerrard Farrow from Brookhaven, Marigold Hidlebrand from Michael Delvin, and Amaranth Brandybuck from Buckland – had all been trained extensively before finally gaining the honor of joining the Royal Flight. He didn’t have to turn to see the smile Gorbadoc was attempting to conceal – his daughter had performed well. Bilbo smiled at the glow in her eyes when she saw her father’s approval. 

The new recruits finished their demonstration and stepped comfortably into a soldier’s ready. It was then Bilbo’s turn to step forwards and as he did a hush fell through the room. The oath they were about to make would bind them to the Royal Flight – and to Bilbo – for life. Gerrard Farrow knelt before him first as the eldest. He may have been several years older than the usual recruit, but he’d proven himself more than capable in his training. 

“I do sincerely promise and swear that I, Gerrard Farrow, will be faithful in the protection of our king. My wings are his to command and my talons will always seek out his enemies. By my beak or my body I will defend him. Long live the king.”

With the oath completed Gerard stood and bowed to Bilbo, his face alight and beaming, before stepping back to allow the others to say the oath. Bilbo felt his heart swell in equal parts with love and sadness as each hobbit said those heavy words. It was love for his people that kept him going through the hard times when he thought he could not go on except for them. But it was equally painful to know that these hobbits would do anything to protect him – die for him – if it came to it. Bilbo highly doubted that in the centuries ago before the war the hobbits would have ever had a royal flight. Perhaps not even a king or queen. There wasn’t really a way to know; the records of those times were long gone. 

But what if he could bring back that peace? He’d tried to hide away that dream. Dreams were useless flights of fancy in times of war. Dreams wouldn’t feed children or keep families together. But that hadn’t stopped it from growing like an untamed weed whose thorns pricked him mercilessly.  He never should have met with the serpentine king. Three days after the meeting and it still crept into his thoughts, breaking his peace of mind. 

He wished he could ask Primula. It had been so difficult seeing her in his dreams last night. She had been his brightness, his sunflower, and without her the world had lost some of its shine. He’d wished he could have asked her about the meeting with the serpentine, but that wasn’t how dreams worked. Still, he couldn’t help but smile wryly at the thought of her meeting the serpentine king. Prim had never exactly been one to mince words and she was the bravest hobbit he’d ever known. She probably would have marched right up to the king and gave him a piece of her mind and if the wizard complained she’d tell him to go mind his own business for once. 

“What’s got you smiling?” Gorbadoc asked as he walked back to Bilbo after congratulating his daughter. 

“The armor looks good on them,” Bilbo replied. It wasn’t the real truth, but he wasn’t lying either. The Royal Flight wore armor different from the bounders or hobbitry-at-arms. Gleaming pauldrons and vambraces embossed with a hawk in mid-flight marked their station and had already been given to the new members and they were well admired. As a rule hobbits wore as little armor as they could get away with. Whatever they wore transformed with them, but the weight remained and to remain agile in the sky they had to diminish whatever weight they could. 

“That it does,” Gorbadoc replied proudly. “Walk with me to find the Captain, won’t you? I’ve been wanting to have a word with the two of you.” Bilbo agreed easily enough, though he had a feeling he knew just what Gorbadoc wanted to discuss. They walked the perimeter of Brandy Hall together in search of the Captain. It took almost half an hour before they found him what with the size of the room and the number of hobbits who stopped them on their way. Brandy Hall was by far one of the most popular locations for festivities even though it was close to the eastern borders of the Shire. The bright open space on a high level within the Brandybuck tree – not to mention the unending flow of ale the Brandybucks were well renowned for – kept it a highly popular spot.  

“I see you’ve found my hiding spot,” Fortinbras said when they reached him. He had his pipe out and blew an excellently proportioned smoke ring. Fortinbras had been the captain of the Royal Flight for the past twenty years, but he had considered it his duty to protect Bilbo for far longer than that. Bilbo could still remember the day when he was barely a nestling and his father had asked Fortinbras to look after him. He’d agreed and hadn’t stopped since. 

“Is it the crowds?” Bilbo asked, taking the pipe Fortinbras offered and savored the flavor of Old Toby. Fortinbras shook his head.

“The noise,” he replied. Bilbo looked back into the party to see a huddle of young children playing with noise crackers. Their parents were already rushing towards them, a stern scolding on the tip of their tongues. Bilbo handed the pipe back. “You look like you want to say something, Gorba.” 

“I do,” Gorbadoc replied. “I want to discuss the truce, and the rest of it.” Fortinbras nodded and they inched further away from the party. Only the Royal Flight had been present at the meeting with the serpentine king and they were sworn to protect their king and his secrets, but they were hobbits after all and some had less restraint on their tongue than others. “This truce has been helpful, no doubt about it. A blessed chance for us to recover our strength. But I worry about the wizard’s proposal.” 

“I agree,” Fortinbras said. “That wizard’s proposal is not to my liking.” Not to their liking? They weren’t the ones who’d have to marry a serpent if it came to it. It wasn’t at all to Bilbo’s taste. He didn’t think that needed stating.

“Have you thought more on it, Bilbo?” Gorbadoc asked. 

“Some,” Bilbo replied with a shrug. That was an understatement of extremes. He couldn’t stop thinking about Gandalf’s words and the terrifying intense gaze of the king. As much as he hated to admit it, Gandalf had been right about him. He’d thought he’d grown out of those daydreams of ending the war, but he hadn’t. 

“I don’t see how there can be more to think about it,” Fortinbras scoffed. “They won’t hold to their word. There’s no point in it.” 

“We don’t know that,” Gorbadoc replied. “From the sound of it that king sounded quite willing to aim for peace. The young prince certainly was a friendly fellow.” 

“He’s not the one making decisions. He’s not the one Bilbo would have to marry,” Fortinbras shot back and took a step forwards. “As captain of the Royal Flight it’s my duty to protect Bilbo from any danger. If he marries that serpent we might as well starting digging his grave while we’re at it.” 

“Fort, please calm down,” Bilbo said. He could tell his cousin was far too wound up. 

“Are you two trying to talk Bilbo out of rethinking the offer?” 

Bilbo nearly groaned as a third hobbit very set on making his own mind joined their group. Rory Brandybuck was several years his junior, but that hadn’t stopped him from trying to hold as much sway in Bilbo’s council as the more senior hobbits. 

“Hush,” Fortinbras scowled at him and looked behind his shoulder to make sure that no one had overheard them. 

“I don’t think he should do it,” Rory declared fiercely. “There’s got to be a better way.” 

“It’s not as simple as that,” Bilbo replied. His temple was throbbing and he put a hand to it. He was fond of Rory most days, but the young hobbit could occasionally be too much to handle. 

“You’re not actually considering it Bilbo,” Rory said, shocked. “Tell me you’re not considering it.” 

“This is the first peace proposal we’ve had in hundreds of years. I can’t simply disregard it.” Even if he wished he could. 

“Bilbo is right to think on it,” Gorbadoc interjected before Rory could begin again. “I have been fighting this war for the last eighty years. We’ve never been so close to peace before.” 

“So you think he should enter a dangerous marriage,” Rory shot back hotly. Fortinbras hushed him again but Rory waved him away. 

“I never said such a thing, nestling. Don’t go putting words into my mouth.” Rory flinched at Gorbadoc’s words. Gorbadoc had little patience for arguments on the best of days. “Now I’m not saying I like the idea, but we have to recognize that this is a rare chance.” 

“A rare chance!” Rory spluttered, face turning red. “They could kill him whenever they bloody well pleased! I don’t think-“ 

“Rory,” Bilbo interrupted loudly and the hobbits finally quit their bickering to look at him. “I appreciate your concern. I really do. But I can make my own decisions.” He tried to soften the words with a small smile, but Rory still looked hurt. He was looking down at his feet and the flush of red on his face had moved to his ears. 

“Sorry, Bilbo,” he said, voice much smaller than earlier. “I didn’t mean-“ he broke off with a cough. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. You’re our King.” Bilbo felt his heart warm at Rory’s words. 

“It’s quite alright,” he said. Rory looked up from his feet, though his ears were still tinged pink. 

“Come on, lad,” Gorbadoc said, taking Rory’s arm. “I know Mirabella made those gooseberry tarts of hers and I have no intention of letting them run away before I’ve had some.” Rory allowed himself to be led away which left just Bilbo and Fortinbras together. 

“You were pretty quiet,” Bilbo commented. Fortinbras wasn’t the most loquacious hobbit, but Bilbo was surprised he hadn’t entered Rory and Gorbadoc’s argument. Fortinbras shrugged and passed his pipe to Bilbo who took it gladly. 

“The lad has a point,” Fortinbras said after a while. Bilbo shot his a warning scowl and Fortinbras quickly backtracked. “I’m not saying he’s got the full right of it,” he continued quickly before Bilbo could show his irritation at having not one but two hobbits try to tell him what to do that day. He was a king, dammit. He’d been making difficult decisions for the last twenty years or so. He could handle a few more. “But I do worry,” Fortinbras continued. “Maybe those serpents are willing to try for peace, I don’t know. But so far all they’ve shown is a great deal of hatred towards us. They cheer when we fall from the sky. They’ve burned our homes.” His voice faltered and Bilbo quickly passed back the pipe. Fortinbras took a long pull and closed his eyes as he allowed the smoke to relax him. He didn’t attempt a smoke ring and instead let the smoke out in a cloud. “What I do know is that you’ve been through enough as it is. I won’t sit by and let them hurt you.” 

The fierceness of Fortinbras face nearly took him back. He knew that Fortinbras cared for him as much as he cared back, perhaps even more. Fortinbras had been the one to train with him, he’d been there after Bilbo’s parents died. Bilbo was sure there were times where he’d only eaten or slept because Fortinbras made him. It was just unusual to see it so clearly on the hobbit’s face. They were both skilled at their reserve, at keeping inner turmoil hidden behind a pleasant façade.  To see it now, so open, was unnerving. “We don’t know what would happen if I agree.” Bilbo replied. 

“They say they want peace now, that they’re willing to set aside weapons of war. But what happens when there’s an argument as there’s bound to be?” Fortinbras shook his head. “That mountain is impenetrable. Once inside, there’s no way out.” 

Bilbo’s throat constricted. Twice they had sent scouts to examine the mountain. Neither had returned. Fortinbras had a point. They couldn’t just assume that things would go perfectly. He didn’t have that much luck. What would happen when there was a disagreement? If he went inside that mountain, there would be no sky to flee to. The thought was chilling. The sky was their freedom, their home. He couldn’t imagine living away from it. He’d meant to reply to Fortinbras, but another voice cut in before he could do so. 

“Such eloquent words, dear cousin. You should have been a poet.” 

Bilbo ground his teeth and Fortinbras tightened the hand holding his pipe. They’d been foolish to stand there so long. They hadn’t even looked behind them since Rory and Gorbadoc left. There was no knowing how long how long they’d been listened to. He forced himself to calm and plastered a smile on his face before turning. Fortinbras didn’t even try to smile.

“How are you today Lobelia?” He asked. She looked just as he expected, expensive dress layered with too many accessories and a hat that gave her the distinctive impression of a rather large poisonous mushroom. Rather fitting, all things considered. His smile was thin a forced, but Lobelia’s was the complete opposite. She looked like the cat who got the cream. It made him feel ill. He’d wanted to keep her unaware of Gandalf’s proposal, but now there was no knowing just how much she’d heard. 

“Better than yourself, it seems.” She sashayed her way between him and Fortinbras whose grim expression had returned in full force. She inspected Fortinbras with distaste and sniffed. “You shouldn’t make that face Fortinbras. People might begin to think you actually  _ want _ to look like a toad.” 

“Was there something you wanted?” Fortinbras asked coolly. His voice was neutral, but Bilbo saw him flexing his jaw. Fortinbras and Lobelia had never gotten along. Bilbo didn’t know when it had started, but the Toad War was now infamous. It had started as a childhood prank that escalated wildly and only ended when Lobelia moved to live with her Aunt for a time and Fortinbras had begun training with Bilbo. 

“Am I required to want something to talk to my king?” She snipped. “No, I simply wanted to speak with Bilbo for a while. Is that so hard for you to believe?” 

“From you? Yes.” 

“Fortinbras,” Bilbo warned. There had been enough arguments that morning. He didn’t need a spat between his heir and captain in addition to everything else going on. 

“Come with me Your Highness,” Lobelia said, sliding her arm around his and turning them back towards the celebration. “Let’s go rejoin the others. I’m in desperate need of civilized conversation.” 

Bilbo allowed himself to be steered away from his Captain and back into the fray with a small amount of guilt. He wished he could have left their conversation more complete, but there was no chance of their discussing the proposal further after Lobelia’s presence and a shameful part of him was glad for the excuse. He loved his people dearly, but the wizard’s proposal was difficult enough to think on without the opinions of others cavorting through his mind. To his relief Lobelia led them towards the banquet table. The tables were groaning with the weight of countless dishes and Bilbo eagerly took a plate. 

“You surprise me Bilbo,” Lobelia said, picking up a strawberry and inspecting it. “I was sure information would have been leaked far and wide by now. Perhaps your skills at secrecy are better than I anticipated.” 

“Pardon?” Bilbo was careful to keep his face neutral and his attention on the food even though his heart was hammering. If she really knew about Gandalf’s proposal, then his hopes for negotiations were lost. There was no place for Lobelia in the wizard’s plan and she was a formidable foe at the best of times. If she ever found out that he’d considered removing her as heir… it would not bode well. 

“I’m talking about the surprise attack, of course.” She said the words so simply, but Bilbo nearly dropped his plate. Was that what she thought he and Fortinbras had been discussing? “The one Karshan is working on in private.” 

“Hardly private if you know about it,” Bilbo replied, thinking fast. He’d known Karshan was working on some ideas. She was an excellent commander of the hobbitry-in-arms, but tended towards extremes. If she was planning out a surprise attack, then he would have to quickly dissuade her. He couldn’t risk anyone assuming that they were going to break the truce. If the serpents even caught wind of that rumor any hope for peace would be lost.

“A fair point,” Lobelia conceded. They left the buffet line and Bilbo hoped that he could escape her notice or at least turn her attention to another hobbit, but no such luck. “I must admit the idea is quite good,” she continued with a glimmer in her eyes. “I wouldn’t have thought you possible of tricking the serpents into laying down arms. It’s almost devious.” 

“Who said I’m tricking anyone?” Bilbo asked, a note of irritation sneaking into his voice against his wishes. It was this kind of attitude that made it impossible for anyone to believe in the truce or the chance for peace. If they were always going back on their words, speaking of safety and peace only to slash out with talons once the guard was down, then their word would be worthless. He had to cling to some vestige of honor in this war, even if it was difficult to follow through. 

“It would be foolish not to take advantage of this opportunity,” Lobelia said, voice slightly colder. It seemed they were finally getting to the conversation she had wished to have. “We can’t trust those serpents to hold their word. It’s just a matter of who will attack first: us or them. We can strike that snake pit before they even see us coming.” 

“Can you even hear what you’re suggesting,” Bilbo hissed at her. “Don’t you remember what happened last time we attempted to enter that mountain by force.” His stomach roiled with nausea. What Lobelia was suggesting was hardly short of murder. The last time they had launched an attack like that on the mountain had ended so badly the day was commemorated as a holiday for those they lost. It had been a bloodbath. True, they had killed many serpents, but the cost had been devastating. 

“There’s no other option,” she snapped back. “What are you planning? You think those snakes will lay down their arms and call an end to the war all quiet? It won’t happen. Attacking now is the surest chance of winning.” She leaned in and eyed him sharply. “You are planning on attacking, aren’t you?”

“You just said I was,” Bilbo replied.

“You know you can’t trust those serpents,” she spat the last word as if she felt venom just saying it. “We can’t trust this truce, not for a moment. They will attack us. All I’m saying is that we need to do it first.” 

“I appreciate your advice, Lobelia,” Bilbo said, a note of steel in his voice, “But do not expect that you can tell me what to do. You are not queen. ”

She leaned so close to him that he could see each of her eyelashes. “Not yet.”

Bilbo clenched his teeth around his fury as she walked away, leaving him almost vibrating in anger. Her attitude would get their people killed. They would be slaughtered if they attempted to attack the mountain. Was this really the future queen he would leave his people prey to? A queen who asked too much of her people, who didn’t understand the sacrifices made in war. Lobelia had trained herself in the ways of court and had a silver tongue when she wanted it, but she had no experience fighting. She’d never even been on a battlefield. And how could he think himself any better by knowing what she would put them through and still doing nothing to stop it? He had the ability to protect his people from that kind of devastation. It now seemed so obvious. He was terrified by Gandalf’s proposal, but it was the one small chance for peace. Besides, if he failed, thing would just go back to the way they already were. It was worth trying. For the sake of his people, for Primula and Frodo and all the others, he would try. He couldn’t help an ironic chuckle. Lobelia had been so intent on talking him into attacking, but she’d ended up convincing him to the opposite. Her plan had backfired. All he needed now was to find his courage and hope that it would hold. 

* * *

Bilbo paced his rooms. He could not afford to leave the Shire too early in the evening else he’d be seen. He would have to time it carefully. The flight north to the Lonely Mountain would take several hours. Not nearly as long as the horse trek the serpentine kind would be forced to take, but difficult to complete a full trip in one night. He traced a longing hand across his spear, Aeglos. It was the weapon he always took with him when he went to fight the serpentine. He’d been given the family heirloom to train with when he was thirty and it felt off balancing to go into their land without it. But it wouldn’t make sense to bring a weapon of war to a peace meeting, so he left it behind. He was halfway back to his desk where he’d placed a note detailing where he was headed before he thought better of it and veered off into his study instead. The thought of Fortinbras’s face if he found that letter and realized just what Bilbo was about to do was too much for him to bear. He paced across his room again. His body was thrumming in a state of nervous excitement which left him agitated. He would pick up items to distract himself only to place them back without looking at them. Finally, when the night had grown dark and the cheerful sounds of the Keep had dwindled, he allowed himself to leave. 

His window opened silently and he crept into the night, pausing for any sound. Guards rotated the Keep every half hour and avoiding their notice would be the first test of this night. The air was quiet and he managed to transform and leap to the sky without notice. He flew up immediately. Bag End was at the highest part of the Keep so the best chance for cover were the branches and foliage above his home. The cloud covered sky protected him from sight and he ducked and weaved among the branches of their great trees to hide his journey. The Keep grew in the center of the Shire where The Water spilt into three streams, northern, westward, and eastern. He followed the westward path since the water would eventually turn northward and the western borders of the Shire were likely to be slightly less well guarded than the north. The river opened into a large pond just before the western borders and he paused in the trees, listening. 

There were voices coming from the border’s edge. He crept forwards and saw from the light of a small lantern the shape of two bounders. They hadn’t noticed him and he was careful not to make a sound as he made a wide circle north around their post. It seemed impossible that he could actually make it across the borders of the Shire without being spotted. He felt as if there must be eyes watching him everywhere and that at any second someone would find and question him, but they didn’t come. Heart hammering, he paused on the edge of the border. 

He could still go back. He could pretend he wasn’t about to go harrying off on a mad adventure thanks to a wizard. But when he looked back in the direction of Bag End, empty and dark, he felt he could not go back. No, he needed to do this. He faced the borders again and squared his shoulders. Right then, onwards.

He passed the border and darted forward into the trees of Brindbalc Wood which were far smaller than the trees of their homes. Beyond the border The Water joined the fast moving River Running which ran a divide between the sharp Crags to the west and the wood to the northeast. The wood slowly thinned to reveal The Dim Hills and the Long Lake beyond that. Looming above the lake was the Lonely Mountain. Its presence was menacing – a stark monument against the deep blue sky. He’d kept to the western edge of the lake, unwilling to risk the dangers of the open water. At first there had been enough trees to hide his passage, but as the trees thinned he grew more anxious. He would have to land and finish the journey by foot. If he came much closer he was bound to be shot out of the sky without question. 

The ground was far cooler when he landed than the warm draft he’d flown with and he shuddered slightly as a breeze blew past. He should have thought to bring a cloak and instead had to suffice with crossing his arms and picking up a brisk pace. The mountain cast dark shadows over the rocky landscape which slowed his climb. Nearly half an hour passed before he felt eyes watching him. He froze. The small feathers in his hair went on end and his heart returned to its rapid beating. Out from the shadows stepped two figures and he could hear at least another two behind him. The ones before him were cloaked in black and each carried a set of viciously curved axes. From behind him came the sound of two bows bending as arrows were pointed at his back. The sound sent hot fear sliding down his spine. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. There would be no going back from this point. Either they would come to an agreement or he would likely die. Bilbo clenched his jaw and forced his nausea away. He would not be sick in front of these guards. He was King of the Shire. He would leave this mountain alive. 

“Follow me,” one of the guards ordered and they fell into step with two guards before him and two after. Bilbo kept his focus on his breathing and on his feet as they came upon the road that led into the mountain. The road inclined smoothly and he had to keep his jaw from gaping as he stared at the entrance to Erebor. It was monumental. He’d never seen it from the ground before and never so close. The great statues of ancient serpentine kings which guarded the path seems to be alive and their eyes danced in the torchlight. Bilbo quickly averted his own. They paused before the gates and waited for them to open. The doors opened and the snake’s den lay open before him. A place he had never dreamed of seeing. Heart in his mouth – he forced his feet to move as they crossed the entrance. One step forward. Then another. The gears creaked and he turned sharply to find the doors already closing behind him. The last glimpse of starlight vanished as they shuddered shut. He was inside now and the exit was now closed. Panic burned the edges of his mind and his sight went momentarily black but he forced it back. He would not faint. He could not afford to fail. Bilbo forced his breathing to slow and reached to the depths of his reserve. He could do this. The blackness receded from his vision and he tilted his chin up. There was no going back or left or right. Forwards was then his only option. 

The guards led him quickly past the entrance and Bilbo had difficulty keeping up with their pace. His feet didn’t seem to want to move further inside and he wanted to pause and stare at everything they passed. It was just that he’d never known what the mountain would be like inside and it was entirely different from what he’d imagined. He’d expected it to be dark and cramped – little more than hollowed out caves – but it was so much more. The entrance hall was enormous and filled with proud statues and glittering decoration. They reached the end of the hall and he gasped. A vast central cavern stretched before him. Hundreds of lights and halls were visible crisscrossing each other deep into the depth of the mountain. He couldn’t take his eyes from the sight and it took the guards prodding him forward before he’d move again. They led him through several other halls before stopping at a receiving room. 

“You will wait here,” one of the guards said as two others went inside the room to guard the doors. Bilbo had to stop his frown at the order. They had obviously been expecting him which meant they knew who he was and he rankled at the poor manners. Then again, his people has most likely treated King Thorin the same. 

“I would like to speak with Gandalf,” Bilbo said quickly before the guard to run off. The guard frowned at the request.

“I will see if I can find the wizard,” he promised before setting off. 

Bilbo set to pacing again. The guards watched him and he purposefully ignored them. The receiving room surprised him. It looked much nicer than he’d expected – well-crafted wooden chairs surrounded a mahogany table and a fire was crackling in the fireplace. He stepped closer to the fire and warmed himself. It wasn’t exactly cold inside the mountain, but the chill from the journey had seeped into him. He shivered slightly and not entirely from the temperature. Fifteen minutes passed in which he attempted to consolidate his frazzled nerves before the door opened. He looked up, hoping to see Gandalf, but instead it was the king. He looked much the same as last time they had met – striking in shades of blue and silver. The king took several cautious steps forwards and another four guards entered the room behind him. 

“You came,” the king said after a moment. He was staring at Bilbo as if he were a phantom, as if he could not believe his eyes. Bilbo forced himself not to twitch away from that gaze. When alone he’d chided himself for his reaction to the serpentine king’s gaze, saying that it couldn’t really be that bad, but now that he was facing the king he felt the same unease. Eyes were not supposed to have that kind of power. The serpentine king took another step forwards. “I did not think you would.” 

“Well, I have,” Bilbo replied. He knew he ought to say more than that, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Great lot of help his courage was. They were saved from the mounting awkward silence by Gandalf’s arrival. Bilbo couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief at seeing the wizard. 

“Bilbo Baggins,” Gandalf said, stepping around the table to greet Bilbo properly. The wizard was beaming at him and clasped his shoulder. “I knew I would see you here.” 

“That makes one of us,” Bilbo grumbled, frowning at the sparkle of excitement in the wizard’s eyes. He may have come to agree to Gandalf’s plans, but he wasn’t about to give the wizard a chance to gloat. 

“My dear hobbit,” Gandalf continued with that irritating twinkle in his eyes only slightly hidden by overly bushy eyebrows, “I never doubted you for a moment.”

Bilbo highly questioned the truth of that, but was saved further doubt by the entrance of another serpentine. He was shorter than the king, though still taller than Bilbo, and had an incredibly long white beard. He bustled in with an air of authority and came to stand beside the serpentine king. “You must be the hobbit,” he said in an accusatory tone as he crossed his arms over his deep red tunic. 

“Balin,” King Thorin snapped at the newcomer and shot a glare at the new serpent. “Your Highness,” he said as he turned back to face Bilbo, “may I introduce Balin son of Fundin, my chief advisor. Balin, as you are aware, this is Bilbo Baggins, King of the Shire.” 

Balin gave the smallest of bows to Bilbo and he didn’t miss the absence of the typical “at your service.” This did not seem to be a serpent as easy to win over as the young prince. He wished that Prince Kili would come to this meeting. The young prince would have eased his nerves, but it was likely too late in the night aside from all other reasons why he wouldn’t be able to attend. Bilbo was surprised to see the king and his advisor dressed in their day clothes and without the look of sleep. 

“Now,” Gandalf clapped his hands and they all startled at the sound. The wizard drew up a chair and settled himself at the table. “We are all here. I believe we can begin to make some progress on my proposal.” 

“Hold on just a moment, Tharkun,” Balin interrupted. “Our visitor has not told us why he is here.” Bilbo forced himself not to bristle at the serpent’s tone. 

“I am here to accept Gandalf’s proposal for peace,” Bilbo said. He held the pale blue gaze of the other serpent. 

“You told King Thorin not a week ago that you had no interest in this peace arrangement. It’s hard to believe that you could change your tune after a scant few days.” 

“You doubt my desire for peace?” Bilbo asked, fighting to hold back his irritation. 

**“** Your people have killed mine for years,” Balin said, ice now in his eyes. “You’ll understand, I’m sure, if we don’t trust you immediately.”

“Balin,” King Thorin growled in a low warning before Bilbo could reply. He was reeling from the sting of those words. They’d cut deeper than he’d expected. 

“No – no, I understand.” He held out a hand in an attempt to placate the angered serpent. “You don’t trust me. You’ve a very good reason not to. We’ve been enemies for as long as we can remember. I can’t honestly think of a way to convince you. But I can promise you this,” his voice lowered and gained the full attention of his audience, “my people have longed for peace and I am willing to do whatever is necessary to give that to them.” 

“In that, you and I are the same.” It was the serpentine king who spoke. “You know my thoughts, Balin. If Bilbo Baggins agrees to Gandalf’s plans then we will see it through.” 

“As you wish, Your Highness,” Balin replied sadly. The ire seemed to have fizzled out of him and Bilbo was struck with the openness that the serpent displayed. The worry and care were plain on his face for anyone to see. Bilbo had to look away. Hobbits typically had the good manners to keep their emotions in check, at least in their expressions.  

“Now that you have finished questioning each other I suggest we begin this meeting.” Gandalf spoke up from the table. “These chairs are quite comfortable and I am getting quite tired of craning my head to look at each of you. Sit down so we can begin this meeting properly. We don’t have much time.” They sat slowly. Bilbo perched himself on the edge of his seat. He really would have preferred to keep a reasonable distance from the serpents, but Gandalf’s mood had soured some and Bilbo didn’t wish to press it. When they remained quietly seated to Gandalf’s content the wizard began again. “I suggest that the marriage take place as soon as possible. Ideally, before the truce ends.” 

Bilbo teetered on the edge of his seat. They had only agreed to a fortnight, half of which was nearly gone. That left him with one week. One week to marry the serpentine king and convince his people that peace really was possible. 

“That is not much time,” Balin replied, frowning. He had out a quill and parchment which Bilbo hadn’t noticed earlier. 

“But it is possible,” Gandalf pressed.

“Yes,” the serpent agreed reluctantly. “But it will be a rush.” He sighed heavily and cast an irritated glare at Bilbo as if it were his fault that the event would be rushed. The serpentine king may have convinced the advisor to go along with the plan, but he certainly wasn’t going to hide what he thought about it. “We’d have to get word out immediately and we’ll need an explanation for why we didn’t wait to invite anyone outside Erebor.” He shuffled through some other papers and jotted down additional notes. 

“You don’t think your people would suspect the truth?” Bilbo asked. He was sure that if he proposed a marriage between him and some unknown groom that the Shire would explode with curiosity and wild ideas. The more outlandish the guess the closer to the truth, most likely. Secrets didn’t last for long in the Shire and once the word was out the peace arrangement would become so bogged down in politics that it would never resurface. 

“Not if they believe Thorin has found his One,” Gandalf answered. “For safety reasons it would not be unusual to refuse to name the consort before the ceremony. It has happened before.” 

The serpents nodded in agreement, Balin with a tight frown, and Bilbo fought to keep his confusion from his face. He knew he was ignorant of their customs aside from those of war, but he’d never questioned before just how far that ignorance might go. He would have to ask Gandalf whenever they had a moment alone. 

“What are we going to do about an heir?” Bilbo asked. The question had been nagging him for a while. It wasn’t like they could have half hobbit half serpent children. He nearly shivered from disgust at the idea. “Lobelia is already married, she can’t also marry for peace.” She would likely skin him alive for even considering it. The serpents looked at each other and Bilbo could feel the weight in the air from their unspoken conversation. The serpentine king clenched his hands on the table. 

“My sister-son, Fili, is my heir,” The king said, voice heavy. “Would your people accept a union between him and one of your own?” Bilbo highly doubted they would be willing to accept his own marriage to a serpentine. The idea of them accepting another mixed marriage – a mixed heir – seemed impossible. But it was either that or go back to war. 

“I believe they could be convinced,” he said with only a moment’s hesitation. 

The meeting continued on through the night. Bilbo was already tired from the nerves and the long flight, hours of discussion and arrangements left him near wrung with exhaustion. Finally, when they had drafted an arrangement that was in most respects suitable to all, they stood. Balin rolled up the parchments on which he’d taken notes. When the serpentine king dismissed him he bowed to his king and ignored Bilbo as he left the room. 

“It must be getting near dawn,” Bilbo said. It was impossible to tell the time under the mountain without a window to the night sky. He’d searched the room for a clock earlier but hadn’t spotted one. 

“It is close, yes,” the serpentine king said. Bilbo eyed him cautiously. The king had been relatively quiet throughout the meeting. He’d agreed to almost all of Gandalf’s or Bilbo’s suggestions and had input very few of his own. “You said before you would not consider Gandalf’s proposal. Why change your mind?”

Bilbo clasped his hands, trying to piece together his thoughts into words that made sense. “I couldn’t watch anymore of my people die for this war,” he said quietly. “We’ve lost so many as it is. It’s broken so many homes. I want to keep more from breaking, if I can. Gandalf’s plans, well, they weren’t what I expected.” He forced himself to look up and meet the ice cold gaze of the king. “But I won’t waste a chance for peace, however farfetched.” The king nodded slowly. 

Gandalf called their attention and they walked to the entrance of the mountain together. He knew he should feel weary with exhaustion, but he was filled with exhilaration. They had made a peace arrangement. The war was going to end. He was giddy just thinking those words. The doors of the mountain opened to reveal the deep blue expanse of sky. The bowed their farewells and Bilbo stepped out of the mountain – the first hobbit to have ever done so. With a small leap he transformed to his hawk form and was back in the sky. The journey back seemed effortless compared to the ordeal that was the flight there. A feather light elation filled him and powered his wings. The war would be over. He was barely a week away from a peace treaty that would hopefully last forever. He could barely grasp him mind around that fact. He returned to his rooms just as the sky was beginning to pale. He had no explanations planned in case he was questioned as he surely would be, but for that moment it didn’t matter. Future issues could be dealt with when they came. He had done it. It wasn’t the way he’d envisioned, but it still counted. The war would be over and they would know peace. He fell asleep with a small smile and dreams of wildflowers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The astrick signifies the text copied from the original Hawksong my Amelia Atwater-Rhodes. 
> 
> WARNING - SLOW UPDATES AHEAD (whats new?): I recently accepted a job offer (yay!!) which means I'll need to finish my Master's thesis this December (Eek!). I just wanted to give you fair warning that I may be a bit slower in writing because of that. 
> 
> In other news, today is my birthday! Yay! Please enjoy some cake and ice cream and this cute video of an adorable baby hawklet who confused the weather camera for his mother. Bless him. 
> 
> https://www.facebook.com/cnn/videos/10155088503611509/?pnref=story

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! I hope you liked it! Please leave me a comment to let me know what you think! :)
> 
> Also the title is the same title as the inspiration Hawksong by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes (I know, I'm so creative.) If you haven't read that yet I highly suggest it as its really good! This fic is rather a fusion of the original Hawksong and the Hobbit so expect aspects of both as well as Random Plot Ideas that decided to come my way. 
> 
> I don't own anything from The Hobbit or Hawksong nor am I making money off of this so please don't sue me. :)


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